


Little Leverage Left

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Evil Ron Weasley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 16:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7229257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry kills Voldemort. In part thanks to... Lucius Malfoy? What will Lucius ask in return, and will Harry be able to deliver? </p><p>Warning: this fic is not to everyone's taste. This is not fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Suitable New Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenna_c_tan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenna_c_tan/gifts).



> I wrote this back in 2007, but thought it would be nice to have a copy of it here at AO3, too.
> 
> Originally a 2007 "Christmas present for Ravenna C. Tan. Just because she's a good friend who deserves nice things and I was suddenly in possession of an idea that I thought might turn into her sort of nice thing. RCT, I really hope you like it."  
> .  
> Beta by both 13_moons and aquila_star. Thank you both!  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #14 - Submissive
> 
> Harry/Draco  
> NC-17  
> Warning: Threats of all manner of nastiness.

.*.*.*.

When it finally happened Draco was close by, but no one other than his own father knew where he was hiding. The final battle was raging, the Riddle mansion was mostly a smoking ruin, and Lucius had secreted Draco away in a half-collapsed garden shed for his own safety. Draco had chafed at first, until he saw other Death Eaters falling left and right, his own loving mother dead, and the Order of the Phoenix triumphing. All their best new spells countered easily, parried with barely a thought. Draco knew they had been betrayed.

He never suspected his own father.

Almost as soon as Potter had finished it and the Dark Lord was most astonishingly dead, a mere half Quidditch pitch away from and in full view of Draco's hiding place, Lucius reappeared and grabbed Draco's arm. In fear, Draco opened wide eyes and looked at Lucius without saying a thing. He had no idea what to say. What could they do now? They'd thrown everything they had behind the Dark Lord, and now he'd been destroyed. 

Lucius surely saw his son's fears, doubts and questions plainly in Draco's abnormally unveiled eyes, but said only, "Trust me, my precious child," before Apparating them into a dank cave.

Draco knew better than to raise his voice once they arrived in their new location, but again he turned curious, worried eyes to Lucius and he hoped the request for relevant information - all of it and now - was clear.

"I made a deal, my son. Your freedom for mine. I had… little leverage left, and the man I was able to convince to negotiate on our behalf was not my… first choice. But at least he is a Slytherin." Lucius sighed very quietly. "According to the way of thinking that will now prevail, we have done… unforgivable things, Draco. But through my representative I have striven to convince the new powers that be that you were not at fault for your actions, that you were taught only to be my dutiful son, and that your errors are solely my responsibility. I believe I have fashioned a suitable new circumstance for you. Especially considering your… predilections."

Before Draco could demand an explanation, or even request one politely, he'd been _Petrified_ and was therefore privy to, but unable to participate in, his father's conversation with the Slytherin in question. Who turned out to be Professor Slughorn. Draco learned little from his father's whispered conversation with Slughorn, except that the good professor had essentially the same understanding of the situation as the one Lucius had just given Draco, and that both Malfoys were about to be turned over to either the Order or the Ministry - Draco wasn't quite sure which.

And he continued to be uncertain for quite some time, as someone clearly felt Draco _Petrified_ was not enough, and he was _Stunned_ for good measure.

.*.*.*.

When Draco awoke he had no idea how much time had passed. One did not hunger or thirst while both _Stunned_ and _Petrified_. One did not feel the passage of time. But he saw when he awoke that he'd almost certainly been turned over to the Order of the Phoenix, not the Ministry, as he was being held in a bedroom, not a prison cell.

At first Draco looked at what he could see without moving. He was stiff and sore, and not eager to test either the wards or his aching muscles. But then he sneezed - which incidentally hurt like hell - and nearly got his scalp hexed off.

"Harry! Harry! Come quick Harry, he's awake!"

Oh fuck. Draco knew that voice. The Weasel. Then there was a wand poking the back of his neck, and a quiet, menacing voice in his ear.

"I have no idea why **anyone** agreed to this, you murdering swine, but I live here, and you'll be glad not to forget that."

"That's enough, Ron, let him sit up. I want to talk to him."

And that voice was well-remembered also. Harry Potter. Somehow his own father believed that a "suitable new circumstance" was one which put him with the fucking _Golden Trio_. What the bleeding fuck? What did this mean? What had his father been thinking? How was he going to get out of this? Wary, Draco waited until there was no longer a wand tip in his neck, and then, trying not to wince visibly, he sat up in the narrow bed. Looking around slowly, he saw a tall, thin window covered with a dirty graying curtain and another bed, wider than his own, but still narrow. The room was dingy and looked old and worn. He did not recognize it.

Draco turned his eyes to Potter, but said nothing. He would give nothing away. Let them talk to him; let them explain. Knowing the Gryffindor type, they'd tell him far more than they intended to.

But Potter began by speaking to the carrot-top. "Ron, I think I should explain this to him by myself. Would you mind closing the door as you leave?"

Draco knew better than to look at the Weasel as he sputtered his response. Draco kept his eyes on Potter.

"Harry! But… why? I mean, come on!"

Potter had turned to talk to the pauper, and Draco watched Potter's body language for clues. Potter seemed to be trying for restraint. Draco was surprised.

"I know how you feel about him, Ron, and -"

"Damn right you know what I think of that ferret! He fucking killed Hermione!"

Draco did not bother to hide his shock. This was news to him. He hadn't even known the Mudblood was dead, let alone that he was being blamed for her death.

Now Potter stood and walked to his friend and put a placating hand on his arm. He spoke quietly, but Draco still heard every word; the room was small and his hearing was excellent. "First of all, Ron, Hermione isn't dead. Yes, she's badly hexed and unconscious at St. Mungo's, but we don't know that she's going to die. Second of all, we don't know who hexed her. It might have been Malfoy but it could have been one of his parents, too. The witness only saw a flash of that telltale hair and the Death Eater mask just as her attacker vanished. You know that."

" _The witness_ Harry? What is the matter with you? It was Snape! How can you trust that bastard to tell the truth about something like this?"

"What would it benefit him to lie, Ron?" This time Draco hid his surprise. They must not know about the Unbreakable Vow. Not that it mattered much. Now that he'd heard the description of what had happened to the Mudblood, he was quite certain he wasn't the one who had done it. "Now come on, Ron, I just want to talk to Malfoy without worrying that you're going to hex him. He's under my protection now. I know you're angry, but please, just go… do something else. Have some tea. Walk in the garden. Maybe you could even go sit with Hermione again. You know the healers say it's good for her."

Weasley seemed to deflate suddenly at this suggestion, and he left, almost meekly.

And then Draco was alone with Harry Potter, wondering what he might learn about this "under my protection" business. He remained silent and watchful as Potter shut the door after his friend, and then sealed it with a wave of his wand. Hmmm. Nonverbal. Not bad. Draco had been far too distracted during sixth year to really learn many nonverbal spells at all, but apparently Potter had learned at least _Colloportus_. Draco wondered what else Potter knew how to do, other than kill Dark Lords, obviously.

Potter dragged a chair over to the side of Draco's bed and sat in it. Then he looked at Draco pensively for a moment, and Draco wondered what the hell he was thinking. Pity his Legilimency wasn't anything like his Occlumency, which was excellent. It had been good even before he'd found himself surrounded by Death Eaters, but once he'd entered that snake pit he'd practiced his Occlumency almost every waking and sleeping moment. It had been a lifesaver more than once, he was quite certain. Death Eaters weren't generally very forgiving of the sort of uncharitable thoughts that Draco Malfoy was more than prone to thinking spontaneously and almost constantly. Bless his Aunt Bellatrix for helping him get started with that crucial skill. 

Potter sighed, stuck his wand in his back pocket and leaned his elbows on his knees. How odd that this _boy_ had killed the Dark Lord. If Draco hadn't seen it himself, he'd not have believed it. And the whole encounter had been so… anti-climactic. Draco had not been able to hear, but he'd seen what happened. Potter had been outside when several members of the Order had flushed the Dark Lord from what was rapidly becoming the rubble of the former Riddle mansion. Potter had popped out from underneath an invisibility cloak and caught the Dark Lord unawares from the side. From the holes in the wall of the little shed, it appeared that the Dark Lord had no idea what had hit him. Draco didn't know what had hit him, either, actually, as the light wasn't green but orange, and after the Dark Lord had fallen over motionless, he'd caught fire and burned - presumably until there was nothing left but ash and smoke. Thanks to Father, Draco hadn't stayed around long enough to know.

Potter sighed again and Draco cocked his head slightly, wondering when the hell the other boy would start to explain everything. But instead of talking, Potter opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a sealed slip of parchment. He handed this to Draco and said simply. "From your father." Then Potter stood and walked over to the window, giving Draco privacy he hadn't expected.

My precious Draco,

I'm sure you are wondering what on earth I was thinking. I wasn't sure that Slughorn  
would be able to get you under the protection of Potter, but I confess, despite hearing  
you complain bitterly about him for years, that I was more glad of this development  
than anything else the good professor could have achieved for you. I am in Azkaban  
and will surely remain here for the rest of my life, but I have secured a measure of  
freedom and safety for you that should last the rest of your life, and my happiness in  
that success will keep me warm here in Azkaban without difficulty. Do not worry about  
me, my son. It is only you that matters now.

And this is why I sought out Slughorn and worked to make sure he could get you placed  
with Potter. The Order and the Ministry have been convinced that Potter will be good  
for you, and that you are something of a reward for him. Yes, this means you need to  
obey him, and I am sure that will upset you. But no one in the world can possibly keep  
you safer than he can. And nothing means more to me now than your safety. 

Your happiness is more of a luxury, but I suspect, my beloved son, that once you  
become accustomed to him, that you will be able to find happiness with Potter.  
Perhaps you heard me refer cryptically to your predilections in the cave where we met  
Slughorn. It may well surprise you to learn that I know much of my own child's sexual  
tastes, but I felt it prudent to examine your dreams when you were home from school. I  
am proud to tell you that I was unable to do so once I reentered Voldemort's service.  
Your Occlumency skills are excellent. 

But of course, by then, I knew a great deal. Once it upset me terribly that a Malfoy heir  
should be not only completely and unrelentingly homosexual, but submissive to the bone…  
but now these things may well be your salvation even more than the deal I cut to place you  
with Potter in the first place. Cultivate your desire to submit, Draco. Cosset it. I believe it  
is now your greatest asset.

I will be allowed to write to you occasionally, and they may permit you to visit me once  
every few years. Visit cautiously so that you do not remain in your past. The future is not  
at all as I once envisioned it would be. I miscalculated. I was wrong. I gambled your future  
and I lost. Don't blame anyone else for my errors. Blame me.

But please also remember that, whatever my many flaws, I love you more than anyone  
else in all the world, and I have since the moment you were born. Your life is irrevocably  
changed, Draco, but perhaps you can still enjoy it. That will be up to you, more than  
anyone else. 

As always,  
your loving father

  


  


Draco folded the letter and placed it in his lap. Potter turned from the window but Draco ignored him. Of everything he had just read, only one thought remained to careen through his head like a mad Bludger. _Submissive to the bone_? What the hell had he been dreaming that gave his father _that_ impression? That was utter drivel, that was!

Potter had returned to the chair by Draco's bed, and was carefully looking away from Draco. Draco folded the letter again and resisted the desire to crumple it. He would not damage the last thing he would have from his father for many months. He would not show such weakness in front of Potter.

Draco turned to look at Potter and saw that Potter looked uncertain and uncomfortable. But he asked Draco softly, "Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

Draco had not been expecting this. "Tea would be nice, I suppose."

"Nothing more than tea?"

"I don't know." Draco sighed. He was tired and he ached. "Why don't you get the house-elf in here and I'll ask what's available."

"Malfoy, I don't have a house-elf."

Draco was surprised. 

Potter sighed and continued, scrubbing his face with his right hand and then returning his elbows to his knees. "People have tried to give them to me, but out of respect to Hermione, I refused. I… I tried to set the first one free, too, but it got so upset that I just returned it to Mrs. Petiphor."

"Mrs. Who?"

"I don't know her. Some witch who wanted to give me her house-elf as a thank you for ki - for getting rid of Voldemort." Harry leaned his chin in his palms. "Anyway, that doesn't matter. What matters is, I have no house-elf, so if you are hungry, tell me. We're on the fourth floor. I don't want to go running up and down the stairs loads of times and I suck at Apparating with trays of food and drinks. I spill everything. So do you want a roast beef sandwich, or just tea?"

Draco felt a bit bowled over by all this, but he pretended everything was normal. "A roast beef sandwich would be… lovely, actually. And why don't I come downstairs with you. I could… help."

Now Potter looked surprised, but he extended a hand to Draco, who ignored it and struggled his way stiffly and awkwardly out of the little bed.

"How long have I been here?" Draco asked, as he began to follow Potter down the many narrow stairs.

"About three days. But you were spelled unconscious for… well, until about six hours before you finally woke up, I guess. We were waiting to find out what the Wizengamot would decide. I expect your father explained a lot of that part in his letter. They've decided to… give you to me. I told them I didn't want them to, I want you to know that, but they were going to give you to Slughorn if I didn't take you, and he just… the way he was looking at you was really giving me the creeps. I thought… well, this is weird, but I thought you'd be safer with me. Safer and more… yourself."

Draco nodded, not that Potter could see it from his position a few steps down on the stairs, but he wasn't going to give any more response than that. They arrived at the kitchen, and found the Weasel there. He'd already made a pot of tea and a sandwich for himself. 

"Sit down, Draco. I'll make us a couple of sandwiches." Draco had no idea where anything was in the unfamiliar kitchen - and little idea of how to make a sandwich - and was grateful, but the blood traitor started to blow his top.

"Harry! What the fuck! Make the ferret make the fucking sandwiches! That's why they gave him to you!"

"Ron! Stop it! It's my house and I'll make the sandwiches if I want to! And besides…" Potter suddenly looked desperately uncomfortable, and continued to look that way even when he'd turned his back to the others and bent over the bread and knife. "You know they meant me to have him do… other things."

Words from his father's letter suddenly entered Draco's head. "Predilections… submissive… homosexual… obey…." Great. He was here to be Potter's fucking sex slave. For the rest of his fucking… oh Merlin… the rest of his sorry-arsed life. Then the ginger git cut into Draco's thoughts. His voice was softer now. Weasley sounded rather invested in convincing Potter that he was right.

"That too, Harry, but he's _your_ servant, your _reward_."

Harry turned away from the sandwich he was preparing and fixed misery-filled eyes on the ginger git. "He's my reward, and I'm his _punishment_. Sometimes I just don't understand the wizarding world at _all_. Why would anyone think that being his punishment could be my reward?"

Draco was astonished. This was hardly the reaction he'd expected from Potter. But this, well, this he could work with. Potter seemed to suddenly snap out of a funk, like he didn't like the way he'd been acting. He slapped a roast beef sandwich on the table in front of Draco and sat in front of the other one before he began to speak. Draco wasted no time in beginning to eat. The way things were going, he would need nourishment. And possibly the head start.

"You know… the thing I don't really understand is…" Potter interrupted himself to take a healthy swig of his tea, "why does everyone think I'm gay?"

The Weasel looked as blank as Draco felt. Luckily, the ginger git recovered enough to respond. 

"Harry, no one thinks you're gay, per se, but of course you're bisexual, aren't you? I mean, isn't everyone?"

Apparently not, as Harry gaped unattractively at the beggar. With food in his mouth. Disgusting. Hmm. Perhaps Draco _couldn't_ work with this, after all. He'd have to keep his eyes and ears open - and his mouth shut - and see where this led. 

"Bisexual? Everyone is… bi? You're… bi? Ron?"

The blood traitor seemed remarkably nonplussed by his friend's descent into shock and bad table manners. He merely shrugged at Potter and finished chewing a large bite of sandwich. Once he'd washed it down with the last of his tea, the pauper managed to answer. Potter simply stared, waiting for enlightenment.

"Well, of course I am, Harry. And I'd wager you are as well. I always thought everyone was. I'd say I'm about… eight out of ten for women. But I could pull a bloke, at least, I mean, I never actually have, but I've thought about it. Girls are just… softer. And I like the challenge. Besides, if I'd wanted any bloke at school it would have been Seamus, and he was busy with Neville, so I got interested in Hermione instead." He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Lavender… doesn't really bear mention."

This was obviously all news to Potter, who sat in awkward silence for a moment, then choked out, "Seamus and… Neville?"

"You didn't know? Shit, Harry, where the hell were you? Seamus and Neville have been dating since fourth year and fucking since a little ways into sixth!"

Draco finished the last of his sandwich and got up, leaving the Gryffindors to reminisce. This nonsense did not concern him.

.*.*.*.

Despite having been unconscious for three days, Draco had felt exhausted after the conversation in the kitchen, and had returned to the bed he'd started out in. He awoke in the gloom to hear a menacing voice hissing at him, "Wake up, you bastard."

"I'm awake, Weasley." Draco lay still. He had no idea where his wand was. He might never own one again. He might have to live with the ginger menace for months, or even for the rest of his life, if the Mudblood never woke from her hexes. He couldn't afford to make this boy any angrier than he did simply by existing. So he didn't move, or put any emotion into his voice.

"He'll get tired of you, you know." This was news to Draco. Who could possibly tire of him? Especially if sex were involved? But he thought perhaps he might learn something about Potter, and remained silent. 

Weasley hissed nastily and Draco felt the hairs at his neck prickle at the words and the delivery. "He's sure to tire of you. You heard him; he doesn't want to fuck you. Oh, I'm sure he'll give you a try, once or twice, at least have you suck his cock a few times. But when he moves on to bigger and better things than _you_ , I'll be here to… keep you busy. He won't let them put you in Azkaban, but he won't want you in his bed. So he'll be sure to loan you to me when I ask. I look forward to it. He's such a gentleman, and he won't hurt you, won't damage you. But I ache with the need to destroy you, ferret.

"You know, I sat in here for hours, waiting for you to wake up. And the whole time, I was dreaming of ways to hurt you with my cock. Just the thought of you moaning with fear and pain gets me hard, Malfoy. I love the thought of taking you dry, ripping you a little with my dick, making you bleed. Then you'd finally have lube, eh? I wonder if blood makes good lube? I can't wait to watch you find out."

Draco remained motionless and waited for the tirade to end.

"I think I'd like to lie back on my bed, have you suck me till I'm hard, then make you sit your scrawny little arse down on my cock. I'd like to make you do all the work, ferret. Then you'll have to fuck me till I come. Think you can work my prick over good, ferret? You know, the better a whore you are, the less time you'll have to spend bouncing on my immense cock."

Draco worked hard to breathe in, breathe out, normally. Slowly. He didn't want this arsehole to see his fear. These were just words. He belonged to Potter, not this psycho. Weasel hadn't touched him and - clearly - he wouldn't without permission.

"I'll bet you think I'm exaggerating about my prick, too. I see you working so hard to stay calm. But I saw a lot of dicks in the Hogwart's showers, and I have a lot of brothers. My prick is the biggest I've ever seen. It's eleven inches long, and almost six inches around at the widest point. It's sure to rip you, make you bleed, make you hurt."

"Ron! Fucking hell, Ron! What are you _doing_? What are you _saying_?"

And just like that, Weasley was scrambling away from the bed, apologizing to Potter, sounding chastened, sounding frightened. Potter was promising to move Draco into Potter's own bedroom, wondering out loud if Ron should live in this strange house at all, wondering if Ron didn't need some time in St. Mungo's himself. 

Draco played it to perfection, he was reasonably sure. He simply allowed all the fear he had actually felt to surface. He clutched the blankets to his chest, he cowered, he let his face sag into worry, then open into relief. 

But he saw it now. If Potter was going to keep him safe from that psycho, over the long term, he would need a compelling reason to protect Draco from his own closest friend.

.*.*.*.

That night he did indeed sleep in Potter's room. And his bed. At first Potter wanted to bring Draco's narrow little camp bed in from the other room. But Draco was quiveringly adamant that he was too scared of Weasley to sleep alone in that thing. They compromised, spelling the two beds together to combine comfortably into one large bed. And Draco was permitted to sleep on the side further from the door. But the bed was more than big enough for Potter to stay on his own side all night. Draco didn't dare make a move to seduce him; he was far too unsure of Potter's potential attraction to men, Potter's feelings about him, Potter's feelings about what the psycho had said. He wasn't even sure how much of the Weasel's little speech Potter had overheard.

How painful and humiliating that it had taken but one threatening speech from the ginger prick to turn all Draco's ambitions toward becoming Potter's willing sex toy. But there it was. For now, he had no safer or more pleasant option.

.*.*.*.

The days passed slowly. Draco tried to stick near Potter, but he also tried not to piss Potter off. This tended to mean that he would excuse himself to go to the house's library or sitting room whenever the psycho left the house. Luckily, said psycho left every day, sometimes for hours. The Mudblood's situation was still a complete unknown. Apparently there was still a reasonable chance that she could be successfully roused - perhaps even with no discernable side effects. The healers were all cautiously optimistic. Draco was a bit shocked to realize how fervently he longed for her health. If she woke, she would probably move into the house with him and the other two-thirds of the trio. She would almost certainly be a great force of protection for him. She was rather famously soft in the heart (and head) for anything helpless. Even Draco knew he rather qualified these days.

Even better, the Weasel was clearly in love with her, and her state was probably the cause of his irrational and violent behavior. If she recovered he might stop wanting to hurt Draco at all.

Draco even harboured hopes that the Mudblood loved the lunatic back, and they would move out of this damnable house and leave him and Potter to themselves. If and when that even happened, he could try to restructure the association between himself and Potter. But until then, he hid behind Potter's skirts and tried not to blame himself for it.

He was therefore in the library one day, paging through an ancient piece of fiction that wasn't really interesting at all, when the psycho appeared at his elbow and startled him.

"Ever suck a cock?" the pauper asked without preamble or greeting.

Draco made sure not to roll his eyes. Instead he put his book down in his lap and looked toward the blood traitor. He was surprised to see that the boy was opening his clothes and pulling out his cock. It was big. The freak stroked it and it grew. No, it was huge. Weasley leaned one hand on the back of Draco's large wingback reading chair, and turned slightly so that Draco would have an excellent view of the length and girth of it. Bloody hell, the thing was a monster! If that freak of nature was right, and Potter _would_ loan him out someday, Draco wouldn't be able to walk for days.

Draco decided he should try to take a bit of control. "No, I've never sucked a cock," he lied. "I don't think I could fit yours in my little mouth. Is Potter's cock as big as that… thing?"

The Weasel growled a little. "You trying to make fun of Harry, you little slimeball?"

Draco turned slightly in his chair, grateful for the book in his lap. Just looking at that colossus - despite the ginger fur crowning it - despite the git attached to it - was getting him a bit hard.

"No, of course not." Draco spoke as mildly as he could. "It's only that Potter has never asked anything of me, not sexually. I've not seen his cock and I'm not sure what to expect. I thought perhaps you were giving me an idea."

Draco's mind suddenly filled with unbidden images of burying his face in black silky pubic hair, of wrapping his hands around a round, tan arse, of closing his eyes and sucking Potter's cock deep into his throat and eating - swallowing - the pleasure of the most powerful wizard alive. He shuddered.

"Scared then, are you, ferret?" the Weasel asked, obviously misunderstanding Draco's shudder. The psycho ignored Draco's silence and stroked his cock a bit more, dabbing a finger in the slit and pulling away a drop of pre-come. Draco was ashamed to feel his mouth water at the sight. He only hoped the lunatic hadn't seen either his shame or arousal.

"Ron. What are you doing?"

The ginger menace flushed slightly but continued to stroke his cock, still at Draco's eye level. "Just seeing how your toy reacts to cock, Harry. He was just complaining that you haven't even let him see yours. I thought he might need a little something to dream on."

"Ron, ever since Hermione's been in St. Mungo's you have been… I dunno… angry and weird. And I can understand that, I'm worried about her too and I'm not in love with her. But… just… leave Draco alone, will you? If he couldn't kill Dumbledore I don't see how he could hex Hermione like that. Stop blaming him for something one of his parents did and just… leave him to me."

"Leave him to you?" The psycho had hidden his erection under his robes. He took a step toward Potter, emphasizing the sizable height difference. 

Draco made sure to stay silent. This conversation looked like one he didn't want to miss. 

The pauper wasn't shouting yet, but he was close. "I _have_ been leaving him to you, and what have you done with him? Coddle him! Treat him like a bloody guest! You make his food, you let him sleep - unmolested! - in your bed! I thought at least you were making him suck you off at night, but he tells me he's never even seen your cock!"

Draco was careful not to move, not to make noise. He'd been forgotten and he did not want either of them to remember he was there and kick him out.

"He's supposed to be your fucking toy, Harry! You're supposed to put him in his place! Make him respect you! But you mostly just… _ignore_ him! And he's _Malfoy_ for Christ's sake! He's the first person I would have thought you would be happy to humiliate and order around. After all he did to us while we were at Hogwarts! Why aren't you punishing him?" The Weasel's voice suddenly got much quieter and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Why?"

"Ron, I… you've never understood what living with the Dursley's did to me. What… killing did to me. I want you to stop this. Now. Leave Draco to me."

"You call him Draco now. Are you even aware of that?" The ginger git still sounded lost and overwhelmed. "It's almost like you think of him… as a friend."

Potter put an arm around the bastard's shoulders and spoke quietly. Draco could still hear. "You're my best friend, Ron; you and Hermione are my best friends. No one else. And the war didn't change that. This won't either. Now please. Go sit with Hermione until visiting hours are over, will you? Keep her Mum company. Let Mrs. Granger make you crazy with more stories about Hermione as a precocious little bookworm. All right?"

The blood traitor nodded. Looked searchingly into Potter's face. 

"You know, Mrs. Granger keeps inviting me to stay with her and Mr. Granger while Hermione is in St. Mungo's." He sounded painfully tentative. Even Draco could hear it. 

Potter nodded and gave the fool a soft smile. "I think her parents would really appreciate having you there while Hermione recovers. You know they really care about you."

Weasley looked unhappy but gave a little nod. Draco thought it probably meant "I'll think about it." Then, still looking at the floor, he left the room on foot. Potter sat down, facing away from Draco. Only when he heard the front door close did Draco dare to speak out loud.

"I think we need to talk, Potter."

Potter seemed to startle a bit. He must have completely forgotten Draco was still in the room. Draco stood and walked to Potter's chair. Considering his options, he sat on the floor at Potter's feet, within reach of Potter's hand. _Right here,_ he thought to himself. _Submissive. Completely non-confrontational. This ought to strike just the right note after that conversation._

"I need to know what you want from me, Potter." He put one arm on the ottoman that Potter wasn't using and leaned his head on it, looking - he hoped - innocent and perhaps even fetching. "I need to know if you're going to ask things of me." He looked down at the floor, then looked into Potter's eyes and lowered his voice. "I need to know what to do so you'll keep me safe from people like your best friend."

Potter looked angry at that. "Ron wouldn't hurt a flea! He's…" Then Potter trailed off, apparently realizing that the Weasel had changed, that he wasn't behaving the way Potter expected. "Well, I suppose I see your point. I'd be frightened of him if I were in your shoes. Shit." Potter dropped his elbows to his knees and raked his hands through his hair, head facing down. "I didn't want this, Malfoy. I didn't want to punish you myself, I didn't want a fucking live sex toy, and I sure as hell didn't want you living in my house. But I made an impulsive decision - Hermione would call this my 'saving-people-thing' in action again - and now I'm stuck with you and you're stuck with me."

"I suppose we are, Potter." Draco pulled away from the ottoman and put his hands in his lap. He looked down for a moment, and then looked up into Potter's face, trying to see Potter's eyes through black fringe. "And I am a little frightened of the… of Weasley. I think you have to stamp some sort of claim on me pretty soon, or he's going to rape me."

Potter looked angry at the suggestion, so Draco backtracked slightly and explained. "I'm sure if his girlfriend weren't deathly injured he wouldn't be anything like this, but he's threatened me with some chilling things, all of it quite sexual in nature." Potter looked sceptical, so Draco thought an example was in order. "I thought you heard him tell me he wanted to rip my arse open with his prick? To take me dry and make me bleed?" Potter looked intensely uncomfortable.

"Potter, there's something you should know about me." Potter tipped his head up slightly. "I'm… did you read the letter my father sent?" 

Potter looked horrified. "No! I wouldn't read your letter!"

"I assume he didn't write you about me? Tell you anything about me?"

"No, not really… nothing that seemed very important. It was all about how you were just a boy, and it was all his fault… all the stuff he'd already told the Wizengamot. I think he wanted me to feel sorry for you."

"Do you?"

"Well…" Potter looked surprised by the question. "I hadn't thought about it. I guess… I do, a little. I used to forget that other people were forced into roles by the war, just like I was. You're one of those people, and I see that now. I don't like you, I sure as hell don't like what you did, but yeah, I suppose I feel a little sorry for you."

"Potter, Harry… could you… want me? Sexually? Because I want you. Sexually." Draco blushed as prettily as he knew how. "If you had read my father's letter, you would know that I'm not interested in girls. Only boys. And if you were to take me up on my… offer… I think it would make things easier here. It would clarify my role, and Weasley would feel more sure of my place and his own. I think it would make me safer. Especially if he doesn't go live with the Grangers. But that's not the only reason I want you to let me… touch you. I also just…." Draco allowed himself to trail off, allowed his cheeks to pink even further, allowed his eyes to look at the floor, allowed his hair to fall adorably over his eyes. Then he looked up at Potter and hoped.

Potter stared at Draco through two sets of fringe. He sat quietly, and he stared. Draco counted to ten. To one hundred. To three hundred. Still Potter sat and looked at him. Then he tentatively put a hand in Draco's hair, and gently, almost absentmindedly, petted him.

Draco leaned his head against Potter's knee and sat without speaking, as Harry Potter stroked his hair. They stayed like that in silence, alone in the large, empty house, as the sun set in the dark, clouded sky.


	2. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by ravenna_c_tan, any errors were added after she looked at it.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #9 - Cemetary
> 
> Ron/Draco  
> NC-17  
> Warning: Threats of all manner of nastiness.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Draco continued to sleep in Potter's bed, and - to his frustration - it continued to mean nothing but an uninterrupted night. For Potter, anyway. Draco often found himself unable to sleep, compelled to lie awake and stare at the handsome boy whose bed he so innocently shared.

He tried not to long for anything more. He wasn't doing well.

Draco found himself looking for excuses to be near Potter in the daytime. He soon found the best way for them to be alone was to ask for instruction regarding a menial task regarding cooking, cleaning, or similar. Without fail, Potter would teach him - sometimes with remarkable patience - and the Weasel King always made himself scarce very quickly. Draco was bored most of the time, but at the moment, bored was an acceptable choice.

But Potter only allowed Draco to hover like this for a week, until the psycho moved in with Granger's family. Apparently her parents had been serious. Once the pauper had moved on to take their charity instead of Potter's, Potter was reluctant to be near Draco. As Draco had feared, as soon as Weasley moved out Potter sent Draco packing back upstairs to the dingy room on the fourth floor.

They were sitting in the kitchen and Potter wasn't looking him in the eye. "You don't need to sleep with me any more, Draco, and you'll be more comfortable in your own room."

"I'm very comfortable in your bed, I'd happily stay." Draco tried to looked Potter in the face, but the other boy was apparently engrossed in the pattern of the kitchen table's wood grain.

Potter sighed. "Look, Draco, I didn't want to say it bald like this, but _I'd_ be more comfortable with you upstairs. So that's where you're going. You want some tea?"

Draco swallowed his own sigh. "I'd love some. I'll make it. English breakfast?"

Draco found himself hoping that Potter's distancing tactics arose from a nascent attraction that he was nervous to explore, but Draco knew he was grasping at straws.

Indeed, it wasn't long before he hardly saw Potter at all, as the ginger git had convinced Potter to take up some charity work with war orphans. Ginny Weasley was very involved in this effort and Potter was now spending long days with her, taking care of children a bit like Potter himself. 

Potter was keyed up about the organization and their work to keep magical orphans away from Muggle relatives. But Draco only knew all these details because Weasley still came for dinner every night. He claimed Mrs. Granger was overwhelmed and he didn't want to burden her with the work or expense of feeding him, but Draco was sure that it was really in order to watch Draco cook and serve food. Especially since he was improving, but he still wasn't a very good cook.

Thankfully Potter insisted that Draco be allowed to stay and eat as well, though, for this quickly became the only real contact he had with Potter while they were both awake.

Weasley pushed once or twice for Potter to invite Ginny to dinner, but Potter was clearly unwilling and - happily - the ginger matchmaker stopped suggesting it. At least when Draco was around to hear. Draco tried to view this refusal with nothing more than cautious optimism, but sometimes he would catch himself hoping that Potter was done with the little sister and ready to move on to men. To Draco.

His imagination was out of hand, though, and he needed to squash it. For it wasn't uncommon for him to be so very sure that Potter was behind him, looking at him, staring at him, but no matter how quickly he whirled, or how long he waited to turn around, Potter was never there.

Somehow Draco had developed a deep crush on Potter. And now, he knew, he was in big trouble. Potter was showing no sexual interest whatsoever, and Draco despaired of keeping a place under Potter's wing for decades if Potter didn't want to fuck him. Even Draco knew no one could enjoy his social company that much.

Draco truly did not know what to do.

In his fourth floor room on the third week after his sad return there, Draco had finally fallen asleep when Weasley woke him roughly. 

"Get up you little bitch. I have something you need to see."

Draco said nothing. He was helpless, wandless, and two floors away from Potter - who slept like the dead - as Draco knew from personal experience. He was only thankful he'd worn warm pyjamas, for the psycho grabbed him around the neck and Apparated them quite suddenly to a dark, outdoor place Draco couldn't place at first. 

"Get on your knees, bitch!"

Draco sank slowly to his knees and looked around. White pillars, words on them… a cemetery. Oh bloody fuck, Weasley was going to kill him and bury him. Draco wrapped his arms around his torso and shook with fear.

"Read that one. Read it out loud. So I can hear you."

Draco opened his eyes and saw that he was in front of a modest white headstone. He began to read, and soon understood why he was here.

"William Weasley  
born November 29, 1970  
died February 19, 2000  
beloved son, husband and father."

Draco finished reading and waited. He still had no idea what to expect, or even if he would leave the cemetery alive, but he knew he would at least live long enough for Weasley to rant and rave at him for a little while.

"He died because of **you** , you worthless little piece of shite. Fenrir Greyback got him because of **you** and he was never the same after that, never healthy. And every time there was a full moon he didn't transform, but he suffered and suffered. He was out walking during a full moon, trying to deal with the agony, trying not to take his pain and rage out on his wife and children, and he was killed by a Muggle lorry. The thing was careening out of control - ice on the road - but he'd have been able to Apparate away easily if he hadn't been so focused on the injuries **you** were responsible for him getting."

"Why didn't… Weasley, Potter's never said anything. I had no idea…."

"Of course not. Harry didn't know why Bill was out, why he didn't Apparate, how he suffered. Bill didn't want Harry to know because he knew Harry would feel responsible. Harry feels responsible for every war death, every bad thing Voldemort ever did. As if he'd only been able to get rid of that bloody bastard earlier…."

The psycho took a deep breath, stood tall and squared his shoulders. For a moment, framed against the moon, standing over Draco still on his knees, Weasley looked eight feet tall and four feet wide. Draco wrapped his arms more tightly around himself. Was there any way to get out of this alive?

"The family agreed, even before Bill died, not to tell Harry about how badly Greyback injured him. We knew how he would react. He doesn't really understand how Bill died. But I know the truth and I know who let that werewolf into Hogwarts. And I want you to know too, and I want you to _pay_."

Draco thought it was probably best if he didn't speak, but he let his face show his fear, turned up into the moonlight, looking at Bill's vengeful youngest brother. He also thought to put up more walls in his mind. 

The Weasel twirled his wand a bit and looked angrily at Draco. "I would kill you if I thought I could get away with it. I killed a lot in the war."

Draco didn't doubt it. He strengthened his Occlumency again. Who knew what skills the boy might have?

"But I would get caught. This… however." He pulled out his cock again. "This I know I can get away with. Open your mouth."

Draco obeyed, closing his eyes. He was surprised when no cock pushed between his lips. He'd been expecting that. Instead, Weasley just seemed content to wank right over Draco's open mouth. Christ, what a relief. A few minutes ago he thought he was going to die. Now it looked like he'd just be miserable for a while and then get a face full of spunk. Oh how the mighty have fallen. He tried not to let any thoughts show on his face.

"It hasn't been long enough yet, but he'll let me have you, I know. Maybe soon. He has to think I've let go of my 'obsession' with you. That's what he called it, you know. But he's already getting careless with your safety. He assumes that you're safe in your little attic room. Now that I'm out of the house it doesn't occur to him that I might wake in the night and come back to take care of your little arse. But here we are, and he'll never know."

Draco wondered at this. Indeed, Potter was showing far too much trust in his friend, to assume that this wouldn't happen. Was he really that uncomfortable with sleeping next to Draco? They got along well enough during the day, when Potter was around, anyway, so why couldn't he have Draco near him at night anymore?

Draco also wondered how Weasley could be so sure that Draco wouldn't tell Potter about this. How good was the other boy's _Obliviate_? Draco squeezed his eyes shut tight as he worked to bring his Occlumency shields to their full strength. He'd give himself a severe headache within ten minutes like this, but if he could retain some memory of tonight despite whatever spells the brute might throw at him, he might be able to protect himself in the future.

And he needed to protect himself, too. While thinking he'd been missing some of what Weasley was saying, and he realized as he caught on that it was nasty stuff.

"… and then I think I'd like to wrap my hands around your throat when I come inside you, bitch. I'll probably squeeze too tight when I lose control. I don't think I'll kill you, but you'll have to go without air for a bit, I expect!" Weasley's laugh was bitter and cruel. "I hope I come inside you over and over before I get tired of you. I'll fuck your mouth and I'll fuck your arse, but I think I'd also like to use _Polyjuice_ to transform you into a girl so I can fuck your cunt. Really, it shouldn't be much of a stretch, since you're already such a cunt."

Draco kept his eyes closed. He was getting very cold, he was shivering with it, and the fear. He was almost tempted to offer to suck the cock over his head. Surely he could bring the prick off sooner than he could get himself off. It was bloody cold out here and the inside of Draco's mouth was nice and warm. But he didn't dare say a word. Weasley seemed to be going slow on purpose. And he was missing some of the rant again.

"… and then I ought to tie you down. I wonder if I could tie you to Bill's headstone in such a way that I could still fuck your arsehole. Christ, I want to rip your little arsehole, want to tear… want to fuck… oh… oh!"

Finally it was, hopefully, over. Draco felt the first blob of sperm hit him in the eye, and the second right where his mouth met his cheek. 

"Swallow it, bitch."

Draco obeyed. Not much had made it into his mouth, anyway. Apparently the Weasel had crap aim. Draco still had a great wad sliding off his left eye, and most of the rest was dripping from his left cheek. He lowered his face to the ground, his eyes still shut, his shame, sadness and fear still plain to read all over his face, his body language. He did nothing to hide his emotions. He knew it was what his attacker wanted. It was the only offering he could make toward his own safety. He promised himself that he wouldn't let a tear fall, however. He listened to Weasley zip up his trousers in the otherwise silent graveyard.

Weasley hauled Draco roughly to his feet and yanked him around without warning. The psycho muttered something and Draco felt his face go suddenly clean. Too clean, it was painful, like he'd been _Scourgified_.

Then he felt the Side-Along Apparition and - pushed from Weasley's grip - he fell to the floor of his tiny attic room. 

"Stand up and spin around, slowly." 

Draco obeyed and realized that the other boy was checking for dirt, and seemed satisfied that there wasn't any on his pyjamas. Draco was directed into his bed, and the Weasel walked most of the way out the door. Then he turned and raised his wand and Draco - seeing what was coming - tried to raise his Occlumency shields to their highest level. But he couldn't get them any stronger than he already had, to his dismay. 

" _Obliviate!_ " and the door closed silently.

Draco was sitting up in bed. It was the middle of the night, and his head hurt like a motherfucker. What the hell had just happened? He was so fucking _cold_ , and his head was full of horrible, frightening images, of a cemetery, Weasley, and so much fear. He must have had a nightmare. A really, really bad one.

Sighing and hoping he wouldn't be rebuffed, Draco slipped from his cold bed and snuck down two flights to the master bedroom, hoping against hope that nightmares were a good enough reason to sleep in Harry's bed.


	3. The Foreseeable Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by owens-mom and drgaellon, any errors were added after they looked at it.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #023. Oral  
> Ron/Draco  
> NC-17  
> Warning: Do you think forcing someone to perform fellatio is rape? I do.

/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/

Draco was so upset by his headache and what he could remember of his nightmare that he didn't just crawl into bed with Harry, he reached for him. Being in the same bed but not touching seemed no better than being in the attic. Draco needed contact. He hadn't felt this alone since his first night in the Slytherin dungeons. He pressed up against Harry's back.

Harry generally slept so soundly that Draco thought he might be able to just take comfort from the other boy's warmth and presence without disturbing him, but Draco wasn't terribly surprised when Harry woke as he wrapped himself around Harry's body. Truthfully, he wasn't all that disappointed, either.

"Draco? What… why? Fuck! You're so fucking cold!"

"I had a nightmare, Harry. I got so scared, and I have a terrible headache, and I just wanted to be near you. I feel so much safer in your bed."

Harry suddenly seemed far more awake. "Tell me about your nightmare, Draco."

"I, er, I don't remember it very well."

"Try." Harry seemed very serious. He encouraged Draco to crawl into his arms, and he patted Draco's back a bit awkwardly. Then he waited, and Draco tried to remember.

"Well, I remember there was a cemetery, and Weasley was there, and it was terribly cold. And I was on my knees and… er, I think… I think there was a lot more, but I don't remember it."

"And so you woke up from your nightmare and you were cold and you had a headache, right?"

"Yes. And all I could think of was coming to you. I didn't want to wake you; I just wanted to feel safer. I hate being wandless. I feel so vulnerable."

"I can understand that. I always felt really vulnerable when I was caught wandless. But I want to talk about your nightmare. Where were your blankets when you woke?"

"Er… on me? Yeah. I was under the duvet when I woke up."

Harry's response to this was to touch more of Draco's pyjamas. Draco shivered under Harry's hand. Oh, how he wanted what he could not have! 

He was distracted by Harry's next question, which seemed a complete non sequitur. 

"Your Aunt Bellatrix taught you Occlumency, didn't she?"

"How did you know that? And yes, she did. I'm a very good Occlumens." Draco pressed his nose into Harry's warm neck. Christ, he was eating up Harry's attention with a spoon. He'd better pull his hips away a bit, because despite this headache he was getting hard.

"I overheard you talking with Snape about it. That's not important right now. Are you good enough to block _Obliviate_?"

Draco was too distracted and happy to be in Harry's arms to dissemble. "Not a really strong _Obliviate_ , but anything below a medium hit I could block, yes."

"Where does your head hurt?"

"Er, here." Draco pulled his head out of Harry's neck and put a hand high on his forehead.

"Hmm. All right, Draco. You can sleep here tonight. And… and for the foreseeable future."

"Oh! Harry. Thank you." Draco rolled over so Harry was spooning him, curved around Draco's back. He was rock hard now, but his headache was fading and he was much warmer. He could sleep now. This was wonderful. He couldn't resist pressing his arse into Harry's hips just a bit.

"Draco. Quit that."

"Harry? Are you… hard?"

"A little. I'm nineteen years old with no girlfriend. I get hard when the wind blows. It doesn't… it's not about you. Please quit squirming and go to sleep."

In response, Draco stilled himself firmly and closed his eyes, evened his breathing. If Harry wanted him to sleep, then he would try to go to sleep. But his dreams would probably be a lot more pleasant, now.

/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/

In the morning, Draco woke alone. He sighed and got up to shower in Harry's bathroom, just assuming he had permission. While he was washing, Draco remembered that Harry had promised that he could sleep every night in Harry's bed now, until further notice. Smiling, he decided this was worthy of a wank. He found a promising bottle of "conditioner" that smelled fruity and seemed to have no soap in it, hitched one leg up to give himself better access to everything, and tried to imagine sucking Harry's cock.

But he couldn't stop thinking awful, fearful thoughts about Ron Weasley. Thoughts of rape, of pain, of nerve-racking threats, of cruel hands and crueler words. Thoughts of a cemetery, a white headstone in the moonlight, and being very cold. That damn nightmare. It was interfering with his erection, never mind the satisfying wank he'd been hoping for.

Eventually Draco gave up and finished showering. Feeling depressed, he went to the attic and dressed, then went downstairs to make breakfast. If he was lucky, Harry would still be home and Draco could feed him before he rushed out for his charity work with the orphans. If he couldn't suck Harry off, at least he could make eggs just the way Harry liked them.

To Draco's surprise, Harry was sitting at the kitchen table in pyjamas and a robe, reading the _Daily Prophet_ and drinking tea. He didn't even look like he'd showered.

"Harry! Have you eaten? Can I make you some breakfast?"

Harry looked up and nodded at him, so Draco gathered eggs and bacon.

"I thought you'd have gone to the orphanage already. I'd have hurried my shower if I had known you were still here. Two eggs or three?"

"Three eggs. And four strips of bacon. Toast if we have it. Tomato, too. And eat as much as you want, Draco. I can afford to feed you and I don't like watching you starve yourself."

Draco started five strips of bacon. "I'm hardly 'starving' myself, Harry; I'm trying not to get fat. There's an important difference."

Harry looked uncomfortable for moment, and Draco thought Harry probably understood the implications. Yes, he _was_ trying to stay attractive specifically for Harry. That this made Harry ill-at-ease filled Draco's chest with melancholy. Now he _really_ wasn't hungry.

Draco started to slice a large, ripe tomato, and realized that Harry was carefully folding the newspaper and putting it on the table. He looked like he had something serious to say. Draco got nervous. This probably wasn't going to be good.

"Draco, I've been thinking. That nightmare that woke you last night. It might… it might not really have been a nightmare. I'm a little worried that someone might have actually taken you from the house and taken you to a cemetery."

Draco continued to prepare breakfast. Not really a nightmare? That was an unsettling thought. He put the tomato in to fry and started cracking Harry's eggs into a bowl.

"When you woke me last night you were cold, freezing. But it wasn't just your hands and feet that were cold. It was also your flannel pyjamas. But you tell me the duvet was over you, so your pyjamas shouldn't have felt cold to my hand. And that headache you had. It seemed like the kind I used to get when I was working hard to learn Occlumency. I'm worried that you aren't safe in the house." Harry sighed. He sounded troubled. Draco was gratified. 

"So I've owled the orphanage that I won't be there for a day or two. I need to do research on some spells that I can use to protect you. And I've closed the Floo to everyone. No one is coming here today unless they Apparate."

Draco began cooking the eggs. He didn't turn away from the food, as it needed his attention. He wanted to respond to Harry but he wasn't sure what to say.

"Draco, are you listening to me?" Harry stood and walked to Draco's side.

"Don't let the bacon spit grease at you. Yes. I heard what you said. I really don't know what to say. I am touched by your concern for my safety, though. Very much."

Draco stirred the eggs, turned a strip of bacon, then another. He saw Harry hesitating out of the corner of his eye, then he felt Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder. It felt warm and heavy. Draco resisted the desire to step into Harry's arms. Harry looked uncomfortable, unsure. If Draco pushed for more he'd lose the little bit he was getting now.

They ate slowly, mostly in silence, but it was comfortable. They shared the newspaper but there was nothing very interesting in it. Draco felt a bit hungrier than he'd expected and he ate a slice of toast, some fried tomato, and an egg with his one strip of bacon. The physical contact with Harry had renewed his appetite. 

Harry asked Draco to return with him to his room, and Draco read a book while Harry showered and dressed. Then Draco followed Harry to the library. They each grabbed a book and sat: Harry in a comfortable chair and Draco on the floor close by. Draco ignored his book though, and leaned his head against Harry's knee again. He was quietly thrilled when Harry began petting his hair. They'd done this only once before, after their first real conversation about Weasley's violent tendencies, but Draco had longed for a repeat. 

At first he thought he would be content to sit at Harry's feet all day, reading, resting, talking with Harry if he were lucky. But after an hour or so - to his surprise - he felt restless and eager to get to the housework. He waited as long as he could, but when Harry withdrew his hand from Draco's hair to turn a page in his book, and then didn't put his hand back on Draco's head, Draco suggested that he move his things from the fourth floor and back into Harry's room and bathroom.

"All right. Call out if anyone pops in - anyone at all. I haven't yet figured out how to reconfigure the wards. The old _Fidelius_ complicates things tremendously."

Draco felt a bit nervous after that speech, but he was able to transfer all of his things - both clothing and toiletries -downstairs without incident. When his stomach rumbled slightly he began preparing lunch. As a result, he was alone in the kitchen, kneeling in front of a cabinet full of pots and pans, when he felt Ron Weasley's wand in the back of his neck.

"Stand up slowly. Tell me where Harry is."

Draco started to shake with fear. He was a bit shocked by the power of his reaction to this boy. After all, Weasley had only ever threatened him, hadn't he? He hadn't actually done anything. Or was Harry right and that nightmare had been real? Draco really, really wanted it to have been nothing but a nightmare.

"I think he is in the library. He wanted to stay home today and do research on the wards. Perhaps you could help him. I should tell him you're here."

"Nice try, ferret, but you and I need to have a little alone time right now. Get on your knees. I want you to suck my dick."

Draco obeyed instantly. Harry was one floor up, Weasley had a wand on him… he was helpless again. Fucking hell, this was clearly not what Father had meant for him, but no one could save him right now. He remembered the headache he'd had the night before and what Harry had said about it. 

Weasley sat and gestured at his crotch, and Draco began getting the bastard's clothes out of the way. If he'd gotten that headache from raising his Occlumency shields as high as they would go, it had worked poorly. Weasley's _Obliviate_ must be damn good. This time he should go about it differently. His first instinct was to raise them immediately, and keep them at their highest level until hit with the spell. So that was probably what he'd tried last night.

Weasley's prick was mostly hard, and Draco leaned in to lick the tip tentatively. Weasley's hand came down roughly on the back of his head, so he grabbed at the base of Weasley's cock and sucked several inches of fat cock into his mouth. 

Really, he shouldn't need his shields until after Weasley came. The other boy was highly unlikely to hit him with _Obliviate_ more than once. And concentrating on the walls in his mind would interfere with the quality of the blowjob. He wanted to be good, because then it would be over faster. So ignoring Occlumency, Draco concentrated on sucking.

He'd never sucked a cock anywhere near this huge, and that changed things. Actually, Draco had only sucked two cocks before. There was Stephen Cornfoot back at Hogwarts (Draco had spent a few years hearing about older Slytherins' mistakes, and let them learn for him that no one was more discreet than a Ravenclaw. Then he went looking for his own Ravenclaw), and that boy he'd met on vacation in the Alps. Ironic how he'd been so adamant that he should stay at Hogwarts over break, but mother had gotten her way, and then he'd ended up spending every spare moment with Laurent. Mother hadn't seemed too upset about it, actually. Perhaps Father had already told mother of his "predilections."

Laurent's cock had been beautiful, and Stephen's had been pretty big, but Weasley's cock was huge. And ugly. It was bumpy and purplish-red, which looked horrible with the orange hair sprouting at the base and along the first two inches or so. But big or average, pretty or ugly, a stiffy was a stiffy. Draco knew what he liked, and what Stephen and Laurent had liked, and really, none of those preferences were really all that different. So Draco covered his teeth as carefully as he could with his lips, swirled his tongue around the large, bulbous head, stroked the underside firmly with the flat of his tongue, and all the while held on tightly with both hands, rhythmically stroking the thick shaft. It was hard to manage all that when the cock was so damn huge, though. Draco's cheeks already hurt.

But Weasley seemed to appreciate it, relaxing his hand and releasing his tight hold on a fistful of Draco's hair. So Draco tried a fast rhythm and tried not to think about how long he might have to keep this up. Surely Weasley wouldn't want to drag this out, when he knew Harry was in the house?

Weasley seemed to remember that as well, and he started to fuck Draco's mouth. Christ, this was going to be hard to deal with. His lips were getting so tired, the drool was spilling from the corners of his mouth, the lower half of his face ached, and it felt like the prick in his mouth was getting even bigger. Not that it actually was. Draco knew he was just tired of giving this blowjob.

Thankfully, it seemed Weasley was coming near to orgasm. Draco wondered if a huge cock shot a huge wad. Then he wondered if he should already know that but had lost the knowledge to an _Obliviate_. The idea that Weasley might have done this to him before, just last night, made Draco angry, and he deliberately allowed his lips to pull away from his top teeth. Just that slight relaxation was a relief. He felt like he was taking a tiny bit of himself back. 

The slight scrape of teeth on the bastard's cockhead, oddly enough, was apparently the thing that pushed him over the edge, and Draco found himself swallowing what seemed to be an utterly ordinary amount of come.

Weasley panted, his head resting on the back of his wooden chair. Draco stayed right where he was, sick with shame over what he'd been forced to do, and dread from what might come next. He could see that Weasley was still firmly holding his wand, and so he said nothing, did nothing.

"Get back in that cupboard, bitch. Start fetching whatever it was you were looking for. You have it? Wrap your hand around the handle."

Clearly, Weasley was about to _Obliviate_ him, so Draco moved his hand slowly, raising his shields as swiftly and completely as he was able. But the sick roil of Weasley's come in his guts distracted him, and when the spell hit, he was just distracted enough that he did not succeed. 

Draco was looking in the cupboard, his hand wrapped around the handle of the pan he liked to use for grilled cheese sandwiches. There had been a slight 'pop' behind him, but when he turned around, there was nothing there. His guts were churning and he felt slightly ill. He also felt disoriented, like he'd been daydreaming. He was probably coming down with something.

He decided to go to the library and ask Harry for a medicinal potion. When he got there, he saw Harry talking with Weasley, and he reacted very suddenly, very shockingly. He vomited on the floor.

"Oh, no! Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry, Harry, I… damn… I can't clean that up. Could one of you…?"

Draco sat on the floor, near his own vomit. He wanted to be further from it, but he just didn't feel able to move. He really wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep. With Harry watching over him. 

Weasley rushed over and Draco cringed when he raised his wand, but all Weasley did was point at the vomit and cast _Evanesco_.

Draco spoke, and he was surprised at how small his voice sounded. "I feel so ill all of a sudden. I was just coming up to tell you I feel sick, Harry. I don't think I can make lunch for you and Weasley today."

"Of course not, Draco. Please, take a potion and go to bed. Ron and I will go around the corner for lunch."

Draco spent the rest of the day in bed, drifting in and out of sleep and suffering from nightmares. Late that night, when Harry finally crawled into bed, Draco pressed himself into Harry's arms and cried and cried. Harry said nothing, and just held the other boy until Draco fell asleep in his arms.


	4. Other Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by owens-mom and drgaellon, any errors were added after they looked at it.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #38 - shower  
> Harry/Draco  
> Rated: R  
> Warning: teasing.

/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/

When Draco woke in the morning Harry was, blessedly, still in the bed. He was sitting up against the headboard reading the paper, but he was right there next to Draco. 

"Awake?" Harry asked. His voice was hard to decipher. Not angry, not warm. Businesslike, perhaps.

Draco rested on the pillow and nodded at the boy he desperately wanted to belong to in more than name. Harry folded the paper over his knees and looked hesitantly at Draco, then reached toward Draco's head, stopped halfway there, then went ahead and stroked Draco's hair. Draco couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes and reveled in the touch.

"You like when I touch you."

It wasn't a question and Draco wasn't sure how, or if, he was supposed to answer. So he lay still and enjoyed the feeling of Harry's fingers in his hair.

Harry sighed. "What do you know about Ron, Draco?"

Draco opened his eyes and looked up at Harry. "He scares me."

"Yes. I think he should. He's starting to scare me, too. Yesterday, I tried keeping you with me to protect you. It seems not to have worked. You got bored, we both got complacent, and I think Ron hurt you and cast _Obliviate_ on you. I think that's why you got sick."

Draco simply nodded. It fit. He didn't like it, but it fit.

"I talked to Ron over lunch yesterday, and he swears he hasn't hurt you. I want to believe him, but I have heard him threaten you, and you're my responsibility. As much as I want to believe my best friend is an honourable bloke, I can't let your safety rest on my own hopes and memories." 

Harry dropped the paper on the floor. He stretched a bit and he looked uncomfortable. "My back really hurts," he muttered quietly, but he put his hand back into Draco's hair. He seemed to be talking more to himself than Draco, but then he noticed Draco looking at him and explained. "It's this thing with Ron. It's really getting me tense. 

"He's never been like this before. Something has changed. He's not the bloke I remember from before the war. I mean, sure, he hated you back at Hogwarts, but he wouldn't have.... Because I hated you back then too, but… well. You know." He pulled his hand out of Draco's hair and ran it raggedly through his own.

"He wants to rape me - and you don't even want to have consensual, Wizengamot-sanctioned sex with me. I know."

Harry winced. "Shit, Draco! Do you have to put it like that?"

Draco sat up. "Harry, I've tried to explain to you before; you need to claim me or he will. I believe that even more now than I did when I first said it. You need to have sex with me, and he needs to know it. And Harry, I **want** to have sex with you. Christ. I want it rather desperately. Come on, really. How bad could it be? Start with letting me suck your cock. Who the hell doesn't want a blowjob?"

"Look Draco, I have never, and I do mean never, been the type of person to have sex like that. It has to mean something. It has to be part of a relationship. How can we have a relationship? You have no power, you're at my mercy, you're a gift from the fucking wizarding world!"

Despite himself, Draco shivered with desire. Christ, when Harry put it like that, he got even harder.

"And I'm not gay, or, you know, bi. At least, I didn't think I was."

"Well I **am** gay, Harry. And what do you mean 'didn't think you were'? Does that mean now you think you are?"

"Draco, you're… pretty. You sleep in my bed. I'm alone, single. Have been for months. You make all these passes at me. And you're… well, we both know what everyone expects me to do. With you. To you. The idea is starting to seem… less weird. But I know I've never had a single sexual thought about any other male, ever."

"Harry. Does it really matter what you haven't thought about other boys? Right now, it is all about you and me. Can I rub your back? Can I do a striptease for you?" Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable at this, so Draco changed direction. "I have really come to like taking care of you in householdy, domestic ways. To my complete shock, I might add. Why not let me take care of you in other ways?"

Harry looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, but then a shy smile came into his eye. "Well… a back rub might be nice…"

"Great! Budge up a bit. Unless you want to lie down?"

"No, I'm not ready for you to sit on my arse yet."

"Pity." Draco smirked. Harry hesitated, but then he drew his pyjama top over his head and the two boys moved gingerly so that Draco was leaning back against the very center of the headboard and Harry was in front of him. The insides of Draco's legs were touching just the edges of Harry's hips, but Harry was leaning his face on his knees, which he'd pulled up. The only other place they were touching was Draco's hands on Harry's shoulders. 

Draco hadn't massaged many backs, but he'd given Laurent a couple of backrubs, and received quite a few from Stephen, so he drew on what he could remember from those experiences. He knew Harry didn't want this to become sexual, so although he wanted to stroke gently and sensually, reach around for Harry's nipples, feather the tips of his fingers down Harry's neck, and so forth, instead he firmly kneaded the tops of Harry's shoulders and felt for knotted, tense groups of muscles. He found a spot and went to work on it, and was deeply gratified to hear Harry sigh deeply, and then loose a slight, small moan.

Draco found that serving Harry in this way was much, much better than making his eggs or cleaning his dishes. He was _touching Harry_. Harry was _moaning_. This was fucking marvelous. He was so hard, his cock hurt. 

It was also difficult as hell to keep it platonic and innocent. But he was willing to make the trade in order to touch Harry's bare skin. Today, anyway. He would just have to take this situation one day at a time. 

Far too soon, Harry was done. He thanked Draco quite sincerely. Draco looked greedily after him as he stretched and padded, shirtless, toward the _en suite_ bathroom. Draco wanted to offer to wash Harry's back, but knew pushing for sexual contact would be counter productive. But then he got an idea.

"Harry? Were you going to take a shower?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Have you fixed the wards yet? Can Weasley still Apparate in?"

"Oh. Shit. No and yes. You'd better join me in the bathroom. And the shower." Harry sighed… and then he blushed. "Please, no funny stuff, all right?"

So, Draco took the most bizarre shower of his life. Draco was hard through the entire shower and Harry was at least half-hard through most of it. Draco pretended not to see. 

He washed Harry's hair, his back, and then - completely on his own initiative - he got down on the floor of the tub and washed Harry's feet. Harry seemed to love having his hair and back scrubbed, but the foot washing seemed to make him uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he allowed it. 

Harry rinsed himself while Draco washed his own hair. At Harry's request, he faced away when Harry closed his eyes to rinse out the shampoo. Then Harry turned to face the showerhead and they each swiftly washed their own genitals. 

When it was Draco's turn to rinse his hair, they scooted past each other very awkwardly indeed. They managed not to touch at all, but it was close. Then Draco faced Harry, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sensuality of the hot water streaming all over his hair, face, skin. He longed to stroke his cock but carefully avoided it, though the very idea that Harry might be looking at him at all made his cock hard enough to jerk gently in time with his pulse.

Since Harry had already rinsed off Draco wondered for a moment if Harry was even still in the tub, so he opened an eye to check. When he saw that Harry was unabashedly staring at him, Draco inadvertently moaned. Harry turned bright red at the sound and skittered out of the tub. He handed Draco a towel before Draco had even finished turning off the water.

They dried off awkwardly in the small space, Draco doing his best to keep Harry from knowing that he was eagerly staring at Harry's body. Especially whenever he bent over to dry his legs or hair.

Then they dressed swiftly in uncomfortable silence and headed downstairs to discuss what the hell they were going to do about Weasley and the wards.


	5. Quality Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by owens-mom and drgaellon, any errors were added after they looked at it.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #01 - day  
> Ron/Draco  
> Rated: R  
> Warning: evil, mean shit. I'm serious.

/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/

In the end, they decided together that the wards were a problem better solved by Draco than Harry. Harry would tackle the problem another way. They weren't certain it was Weasley; hell, they weren't even truly certain Draco had been attacked. They had no _proof_. Nevertheless, they both believed it was probably true. So Harry was to spend the day with Ron, keeping Ron away from Draco that way. Draco was to spend the day in the library, trying to solve the problem of the wards.

It was a crap solution. What if it took Draco more than one day to learn how Harry could set effective anti-Apparition wards in the face of the old, half-broken Fidelius? Harry also knew he couldn't spend every day shadowing his friend, but it was worth a shot. It was certainly worth at least one day, and Draco was, they both agreed, much better at this sort of magical research. Harry was infinitely better at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but really, what this came down to was Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Harry was impressed to learn that Draco had taken OWLs in both. He'd even earned an "Outstanding" in Arithmancy. Harry had never even met the teachers.

Harry wished desperately that he could set Hermione on this problem. It was exactly the sort of thing she adored, but, of course, she was still in a magical coma. Harry was to meet Ron at her bedside as soon as visiting hours began, actually.

Harry installed Draco in the Black family library and headed for the door to the hallway. For a moment he wished he could give Draco a mobile, but then he realized St. Mungo's was almost certainly like Hogwarts: so full of magical interference that Muggle objects like mobile telephones wouldn't work. He was a bit shocked at the pull he felt to stay, to protect. Draco was sitting in the most comfortable reading chair, his feet up on an ottoman, with several promising, and very dusty, books on the table beside him. The sunlight was streaming in behind him, illuminating his reading, and his hair.

Harry found himself pulled to return to Draco's side, though he didn't want to be late to the hospital. He walked back across the room, and Draco looked up at him. Harry really didn't want to interpret the look on Draco's face, but nonetheless, he could see that Draco looked happy. Harry refused to consider anything deeper than that. He pushed Draco's legs slightly to the right, sat on the ottoman, and looked Draco in the eye. 

"I want you to be careful today," Harry said quietly. Draco simply looked at him, and Harry resisted an unmistakable urge to brush the pale fringe out of Draco's eyes. "Don't leave the house, all right? Don't even go into the garden. Hardly anyone can Apparate in here, but I'm not nearly as certain of the garden." Draco nodded slowly, saying and doing nothing else. 

So Harry continued. "My - our - bedroom is the most warded room in the entire house. If anything feels strange, go there immediately, all right? You can go into the bathroom and close the door, and if the house feels like you are being threatened, it will seal the door."

Draco merely nodded again. Harry resisted the desire to yell at him to take this more seriously. He bent his head and stared at his own knee. Draco was taking this seriously. Really, Harry knew that. Inside his heart, Harry cursed the Wizengamot yet again for setting this burden upon him. It was desperately unwelcome. Especially since, the more Draco needed protection, the more tender Harry felt toward him. Feeling tender and protective toward Draco Malfoy was just about the weirdest thing, ever.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Draco's tentative hand in his hair. "Harry?"

Harry looked up and was suddenly struck, yet again, by how pretty the other boy was. "What?" he responded simply.

"I am taking this seriously. I promise." Draco put his feet on the floor and moved closer to Harry. 

Harry looked away and swallowed. "I know you are, Draco. I just wish we had a better solution… I wish…."

"Harry, if wishes were broomsticks…." Draco's voice was soft. Back at Hogwarts Harry would have expected a cutting tone, but Draco had changed.

"I know, Draco. I know. Look, I ought to get going. You just… take care of yourself. You know, since I'm not here to do it for you."

Draco moved a bit closer and said, "I'm really touched by your eagerness to see me safe, Harry."

"Draco…" Harry choked out. He moved a little closer to Draco, suddenly eager to kiss the other boy. He couldn't believe he was willing, no, anxious, to put his lips on Draco's. He wanted to know what that would feel like. He wanted to press Draco into the back of the chair and lift him up into his arms and touch, so gently, so sweetly, their lips were so close, and Draco obviously knew what was coming, his eyes were fluttering closed and -

"Bong! Bong! Bong!" The grandfather clock began to announce the time. It was nine in the morning. Visiting hours at St. Mungo's had just begun. Harry stumbled backwards off the ottoman, and nearly fell on his arse. What the fuck had he been about to do? 

"I - I have to go! Ron will be wondering where I am!" Harry distantly realized he must sound like a moron, but he didn't care. He avoided looking at Draco's eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment he was sure would be shining there. He yanked himself out of the room, closed the door firmly behind him, and Apparated to the hospital's front lobby directly from the hallway.

/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/FiftySmutlets/

Ron was already at Hermione's bedside, holding her hand, talking very softly to Mr. Granger, and looking as gentle and harmless as a spotty redhead nearly six-and-a-half feet tall possibly could.

They spent the whole morning there, talking with Mr. Granger, the healers, each other. Harry was struck, over and over, by how broken, sad, and gentle Ron seemed. His love for Hermione, his fear for her safety, was deeply touching and completely impossible to fake. Harry even thought it looked a bit like the feelings he was developing for Draco - a fierce, tender sense of protectiveness. Harry felt bad for even suspecting Ron of hurting Draco. Perhaps it had been someone else. 

Or perhaps Harry had been imagining things. Maybe no one had actually hurt Draco and it was all a coincidence. Or paranoia. After all, they had no proof. Plus, Ron was a decorated war hero and the best friend Harry had ever had in his life. He'd stuck by Harry through thick and thin. He'd been a little bratty during the first part of their fourth year, it was true, but he'd made up for that over and over again. In the five years since he had been the most dedicated, loyal and brave friend a bloke could want, or a soldier could need. 

At noon, Harry found himself thinking it might be time to go home for lunch - alone. He no longer felt a strong need to shadow Ron, and he wanted to check on Draco, but Ron asked him to have lunch down the street with him. He seemed to want to talk about something away from Hermione and her father.

Thus, they ate lunch together, and in the tiny booth at the back of the little pub, Harry heard how sorry Ron was for getting "weird" about Draco. Harry didn't even have to bring it up. They lingered over their fish and chips, and Harry found himself enjoying Ron's company, missing Hermione terribly, and wondering how Draco was doing with the knotty wards.

After lunch, Harry was feeling uncharacteristically eager to get home to Draco, but Ron asked him to visit Bill's grave. Harry thought this a bit odd, but he couldn't refuse. 

They Apparated to the gates of the cemetery, and walked to Bill's headstone. Ron conjured up a small bouquet of asphodel and placed it at the base of the headstone. Then he sat on the ground, hugging his knees and looking miserable.

When he spoke, it was so quiet that Harry could hardly hear him. "Harry, I think there's something wrong with me. I haven't been the same for… since the battle after the fifth horcrux, actually."

Harry sat on the dirt near Ron and shuddered, remembering. When it began, they had thought Voldemort must have figured out that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathering and destroying his horcruxes. They hadn't yet actually destroyed Hufflepuff's cup, merely found it, when they were ambushed. They each sent off a Patronus and reinforcements had come within minutes, but until they arrived, it had been the three of them against an increasing horde of Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy had been there, his hair so like his wife's and his son's, but his carriage unmistakably that of a fully-grown man. He'd been the most identifiable Death Eater, and the most dangerous as well.

Somehow, they had held off the enemy, and then what had seemed like the entirety of the rest of the Order Apparated in and had quickly saved them. Curses had been flying thick and fast, and they all wondered for a month or two after if weird symptoms might show up. Harry could well understand Ron choosing to assign that moment as a time of transition, whether or not undiagnosed spell damage might be involved.

The incredible thing had been that the timing of the battle was a total fluke. A coincidence. Voldemort's arrogance had extended to his horcruxes. He'd never suspected a thing, until right before Harry took him out. When Harry killed Nagini, the look in Voldemort's eyes was unmistakable. Knowledge. Fear. 

Thankfully, Harry killing Nagini had thrown the red-eyed bastard off guard, and Harry had taken full advantage and hit him with that special orange-fire love-concentrate spell that the Unspeakables had created just for him. Thus, no more Voldemort. Rita Skeeter had had the audacity to call it anti-climactic.

Jerking to attention, Harry realized he'd been missing what Ron had been saying.

"- and I've just felt so dead inside, ever since. During the war, I think it might have actually made me a better soldier. Which was really weird. But since the war ended, the only time I feel right is when I'm with Hermione."

"You really love her, don't you?"

"I do, Harry, and I swear, I would never do anything to betray her trust, or our relationship. You have to believe me, Harry. Draco is safe. I know I said things, terrible things, but I was just angry. I'm over it now. It really… it really means a lot to me that you would spend all this time with me. Like this. Today."

Harry immediately flushed with guilt. He'd tried to get away so many times to check on Draco! He reached for Ron, patted him on the back, and the two friends fell into an awkward sort of hug, clapping each other on the back before pulling away.

The friends spent the entire rest of the day together. After that little speech, Harry vowed not to be the first to say goodbye. They talked about Ron's family, about what it was like for Ron to live with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, about Severus Snape's acquittal and Lucius Malfoy's conviction - life in Azkaban but his son would inherit some of the estate on his death, and he wouldn't be Kissed. He could write and receive letters and welcome a visitor once every few years. There were some benefits to selling out Voldemort, even if it wasn't until the last second.

After they left the cemetery, they wandered Hogsmeade and the fields and woods nearby for a few hours. They had an early dinner at the Three Broomsticks, went to the hospital one more time to say goodnight to Hermione, and then went to the Grangers' house. They had a bit of dessert there, talked with Mr. and Mrs. Granger about inconsequential things, and then Ron finally seemed ready to let Harry go home alone. By then it was half seven, and Harry was eager to see what sort of progress Draco might have made with the problem of the anti-Apparition wards. He'd refrained from speaking about it all day, out of respect to Ron, but now he really wanted to get home. Luckily, Ron seemed to understand. He was also reluctant to let Harry into the room he slept in: Hermione's room. Harry didn't push. He didn't know how he would feel about Ron entering _his_ girlfriend's room if the circumstances were reversed.

So Ron walked Harry to the door. "You going right home, Harry?"

"Yeah. I really want to, well, you know. I know you don't like him, but I want to check on him."

"Of course." Ron looked at his watch and Harry must have looked curious, for Ron responded to the unspoken thought. "I wonder if he's made you some dinner, is all. He won't know you already ate. He cooks a lot, doesn't he?"

"He does, yeah. Seems to like it all right, and he's not too bad. You're right; I should have said something to him, maybe sent a Patronus or something. All right, I guess I'll see you soon. Tomorrow?"

"Sounds good, Harry. Tomorrow. St. Mungo's?"

"Sure thing, Ron. Nine o'clock again?"

"I look forward to it."

The friends shook hands and Harry Apparated into his kitchen.

He knew immediately that something was wrong. The house was cold, dark, empty, quiet. It felt oppressive and desperately wrong. On instinct, Harry began running through the house, looking for Draco. He finally found him, nude, sobbing and bleeding, in their bed. His anus was raw and bloody, his back was worse. He had a terrible headache, and he couldn't remember a thing. But he had the letters "RW" carved lightly and very small into his own skin, apparently by his own fingernails, in three different places.

Meanwhile, back at the Grangers' house, Ron excused himself to his girlfriend's parents, walked into Hermione's room, locked her door the Muggle way, and sat at her vanity. Smiling into her mirror in a way that even he could only have described as evil, he pulled her time turner out of the place she'd so carefully hidden it and placed it around his neck.


	6. Impotence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by drgaellon. Any errors were added after he looked it over.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: #032. Fingers  
> Harry/Draco  
> Rated: R

Harry was angry. "Motherfucking Aurors!" Harry threw a pot at the cupboard and a saltcellar at the sink. Angry, and taking it out on his kitchen. "Fucking bastards on a stick!" Harry threw a knife next. It slammed into the wooden table and stuck there at a strange angle.

Draco winced at the banging and yelling, and cynically wondered if he was the one who was going to have to clean up the mess. He was grateful for everything Harry had tried to do, but his headache had yet to abate, and all the screaming was really painful.

He put his hands on his forehead. "Harry-"

"Oh shit… Draco, your head, I know. I'm so sorry. Look, there's no point anymore in not giving you potions. Let's get you some. _Accio headache remedy_!

Once Harry had found Draco, they had gone almost immediately to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and with Draco wrapped in nothing but a robe and Harry's arms, Harry had tried to convince anyone who would listen that they needed to arrest Ronald Weasley for raping Draco Malfoy. 

A few Aurors had listened politely, but that was all that had come of it. When they learned that Harry had been with Ron all day, they all shut down any willingness to consider arresting Weasley. Initials carved into Draco's arm, a seemingly Occlumency-induced headache, and the very short list of who could Apparate into Harry's house weren't enough for them to overlook Harry's own testimony. 

The Aurors wouldn't see that Ron had "clearly" been in two places at once, just as Harry refused to see that even if the alleged rapist had looked like Weasley, it could have been Polyjuice. Much as he hated to admit it, Draco could really see where the Aurors were coming from. 

Harry had screeched particularly loudly when he'd learned that they weren't interested in taking samples of the bloody come still leaking out of Draco's arsehole. Apparently, that's what Muggle police would have done. Draco had been silently relieved, however. He already felt violated, shamed, and hideously embarrassed. Letting some Healer _Accio_ spooge from his bleeding arse would not have improved his evening.

Now that Harry had calmed down and stopped throwing things, he seemed to be trying to compensate for what had happened at the Ministry. The potion winged its way into Harry's outstretched hand. "Here, Draco. Drink this. I'll get you some tea and biscuits to wash it down. I know it tastes bad."

He watched Draco drink the potion and grimace. "Would you like the chocolate biscuits?" Now he was puttering around the kitchen while Draco sat silently at the table. "I think I'll have some biscuits, too. Let me get out the whole box."

Harry seemed uncomfortable with the role of comforter, and chattered on inanely. "Whoa, these are good biscuits. They really go well with this new tea, I think." They sat quietly for a moment, and Draco did his best not to think, just to feel the tea slipping down his throat, taste the sweetness of the chocolate biscuits, and rest in the large wooden chair. Suddenly Harry stood up and moved behind Draco.

"Here, let me rub your temples, Draco." Harry's pampering, however, especially now that they were alone in Harry's house and he had been allowed some potion, was turning out to be rather lovely. He leaned his head back against Harry's stomach and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth from Harry's hands to seep into his skull. Yes, this was quite lovely, indeed.

"We won't sleep here tonight. I have a Muggle credit card from the war. We'll use it to stay at a hotel. Somewhere nice. You'll like it. We'll come back tomorrow just long enough to pack for a trip. If I can't keep you safe in the house and they won't arrest Ron, then I'll just take you away with me for a while. We'll think of a better solution to this mess when we're away, and safe."

Harry pulled his hands from Draco's head and pulled out Draco's chair a bit. Draco took a last, warm sip of tea and rose, moving to put his cup in the sink. 

Harry stopped him. "Leave it. We should hurry."

They went upstairs, and Harry healed Draco's back as best he could, then allowed Draco a very brief shower. When he got out, Harry had changed into Muggle clothes. He had a rucksack on his back and a funny, thick, floppy book on his lap. He was sitting on the bed and Draco dressed quickly in the Muggle things Harry had chosen for him. Then he sat next to Harry to pull on his socks. "What is that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's called the yellow pages. Muggle thing. Dead useful. I'm looking up places to stay; it has addresses and phone numbers - which are a little like a Floo call address. I want to stay in a hotel I've never been in - a big place, anonymous, downtown, near at least one other hotel. If Ron comes looking for us, he'll realize what I've done because we did this a lot during the war. I do **not** want him to be able to find the hotel, so we'll Apparate downtown and walk, and we'll take this book with us. That way he can't trace any residual magic on the pages, or try any divination, and we'll get take-away and eat dinner in the hotel room. That's as anonymous and private as I can think of. I ate a few hours ago but I'm sure you haven't, and I'm hungry again, anyway."

Draco spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone. "I could eat, certainly. Other than the biscuits and tea we just shared, I suspect I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Harry looked crushed. "Damn it, Draco. You can't know how sorry I am that I couldn't protect you today." Harry kicked at the chair near his foot. "You've been through such a trial, and it's **my fault**. I stayed and stayed with him, and listened to him all day, and Christ, he seemed so sincere, and apologetic. I thought he was innocent! And he was **lying** to me! To my **face**! **The whole time**!"

Harry put his face in his hands, and the yellow book slid off his lap. Draco hesitated, and then put his arms around Harry. "I know you did your best, Harry. I'm not angry with you. You know, physically I'm sore, but I can't remember any of it. I don't feel terribly traumatized. I feel… different, and you're making me a little nervous with all these precautions, but they also make me feel safe and cared for. Please, don't feel so bad."

"Oh, Draco. This whole situation… it's bloody awful. And I'm sorry." Harry reached awkwardly for Draco, and hugged him back for a moment. His head was still bowed, but Draco enjoyed the touch anyway.

Alas, it was all-too-brief. Harry pulled away very delicately and patted Draco once more on the shoulder. Then he stuck the yellow book in his rucksack and motioned for Draco to zip it closed. Harry stood up. "Get your shoes on, and we'll go, all right? I already packed you a change of clothes, your toothbrush, and something to read."

Harry side-Alonged Draco from the bathroom, because - as Harry reminded him - it was the best-warded spot in the whole house. They ended up in a filthy alley, walked out onto a busy street, and went two blocks before they ducked into a greasy looking place that sold Indian food. They bought quite a bit of it, and once Harry had paid, they went back out onto the street. It was a drizzly, miserable night, and Draco began to feel a bit more oppressed by the events of his day: those remembered, and those stolen as well.

They headed down yet another dark side street, and Harry side-Alonged Draco to another anonymous alleyway. This time when they walked out onto the street, there were a lot of streetlights and foot traffic. Draco reached for Harry's hand without even thinking, and Harry clasped hold. His hand was warm and firm, and Draco fought not to put his head on Harry's shoulder like a child.

They passed two or three hotels before they entered a nondescript hotel through the front door. It was an ordinary looking building, cream colored, not tall, no big fancy entrance. It seemed Harry had found exactly what he'd told Draco he wanted. It wasn't long before they were in a room, perfectly serviceable and quite clean. After Harry's ancient, dingy house, it was actually rather a step or two upwards.

They sat on the floor, leaning against the bed and watching the telly while they ate, and then Draco wondered if he might take a long soak in the bath. Harry agreed that would be safe enough if Draco kept the door open, and Draco actually fell asleep in the tub. Harry woke him after a long while - long enough for Draco to get quite a crick in his neck. Harry had brought in a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt, and then he offered Draco a towel.

While drying off, Draco was dismayed to discover that his arse was still bleeding slightly. Abashed, he mentioned it to Harry, who aimed one careful healing charm at him. 

"I want to limit magic as much as possible. It can be traced."

Draco walked out of the bathroom with damp hair and wearing the pyjamas Harry had offered. Harry asked, "Can you sleep? Even though you just took a nap?"

Draco didn't even have to think about it. He was very tired. He nodded and made for the bed, one hand pressing and pulling at the cramped muscles in his cricked up neck. Harry had taken to sleeping on the right side of the bed at home, so Draco headed for the left side and slipped in. The sheets were cool to the touch and cheap enough to irritate, and the pillow was too flat, but he nonetheless felt lethargic and safe, and ready to drift away.

Harry doused all the lights except the one in the bathroom, which didn't shine into their eyes, and then climbed into the bed next to Draco. He wrapped himself around Draco's back and then Draco felt gentle fingers where his shoulder met his neck. 

"Can I rub that? It looks like you slept on it wrong while you were in the tub?"

Draco was so tired, but his neck did hurt. "That sounds nice. Thank you."

Harry began to press gently, pushing down, moving slightly, pressing again. When he hit the spot that really hurt, Draco hissed and twitched away from him.

"Okay, it's okay," Harry soothed, and he put his whole, warm hand on the ache. "Now I know where it is, and I can get rid of it faster."

Harry had talented hands, and Draco was soon floating in a sea of comfortable rest and massage. The gentle care was sweet all by itself, but the neck rub was exactly what he needed for the damage he'd inflicted on his neck. He thought he might fall asleep soon, and he was glad. He was comfortable, safe, cared for. It was just what he needed. 

"You can stop if you want," he murmured sleepily. "I think all the pain is gone now. That was really nice." Sleepily he rolled back slightly, getting warmer, snuggling more into Harry.

Harry's hand stroked down Draco's right arm firmly, but then Harry did it again, and this time it was gentle, delicate, sensual. Draco gave a great, involuntary shiver.

"Harry, I… I can't be sexual with you tonight. Not even like what you were just doing, innocuous as it was."

Draco rolled over the rest of the way and curved into a semi-fetal position, though his head was relaxed and on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Draco. What irony, eh? You've been trying to get me interested in you for weeks, and now that you're too traumatized for anything, I start to feel ready to explore. I'm really sorry."

"Don't feel bad, I'll take you up on it as soon as I feel I possibly can, all right? It surely can't take too long, as I don't remember anything."

In reply, Harry simply patted Draco's shoulder and they cuddled quietly.

Draco slept remarkably well. When he woke, the small glowing clock on the bedside table announced the time as 8:11. Harry was no longer in the bed. He sat in the chair by the window, reading. He was dressed and his hair was damp from a shower. He looked very tired.

"Harry?"

"You're awake!" Harry put his book down and stood up. He sounded remarkably cheerful.

"You look tired, Harry."

"I didn't sleep well." Harry stretched, and Draco watched the way his arms and shoulders moved, enjoyed the way he looked when he spread out, tall and strong. "But that's all right, once we leave England I'll feel safer and I'm sure I'll be able to sleep. I was thinking we might start our trip by going to visit Viktor Krum in Bulgaria. Do you think you might like that? I think he would appreciate hearing in person how Hermione is doing."

"Sure, Harry, I think that could be really great. Er… would you come over here? I think I could really use some, er…."

Harry was already halfway in the bed by the time Draco gave up on finishing his sentence. He kicked off his trainers and wrapped his arms around Draco. Draco sighed with contentment and snuggled unashamedly into Harry's arms.

"Oh, Harry. You feel so warm and comfortable and you smell good. I could do this all day."

"All day? Shit, Draco, you have remarkable confidence in my self-control. I don't think I could just hold you platonically and snuggle you all day. I think I'd have to go hide in the bathroom and wank once or twice…" He turned his head and looked Draco right in the eye, giving him the most languid, lascivious wink Draco had ever seen. "An hour."

"Oh… Christ, Harry." Draco felt his cock stir and start to fill. "I'd want to watch."

"Really?" Harry kissed the sensitive skin right beneath Draco's left ear. "Could we do that right now? Because I don't think I can walk until I take care of this stiffy. Being close to you like this is giving me a massive hard-on."

Draco only moaned softly in reply, and curved more into Harry's body, pulling his hips away but putting his head and one arm on Harry's chest. He was fairly hard now himself, but he didn't feel ready to share that with Harry. His arse hurt, his back hurt, and he felt a vague sense of violation and wrongness somewhere in the back of his mind. He might not remember it in his mind, but his body and his heart were well aware that he'd been raped and beaten for hours only the day before.

"I would- I think I would love to watch you touch yourself. Is it all right if I just lie here and watch?"

Harry was already lifting his hips to pull down his jeans and boxers. "Shit, I can't believe how much I want you to see my cock, Draco. This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me. If you change your mind and decide you want to touch me, you don't need to ask permission, you can just go ahead." Harry was already spitting onto his fingers, stroking his erection, rubbing the head with his thumb and pulling away a rich drop of pre-come.

Draco tipped his head back and looked at Harry's face. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, but he opened one eye and turned his head to look at Draco. He smiled and kissed Draco's hair, then closed his eyes again.

Draco was surprised when Harry spoke. "I didn't know this would feel better with you here."

Draco suddenly wanted to touch Harry. He almost asked if that would be all right, then remembered he already had permission. So he tentatively reached for Harry's balls, and when he cupped them in his hand, they were warm and heavy. He moaned, and Harry came.

"Damn. That was a little faster than I intended." Harry sounded a bit chagrined.

Draco kissed his jawline and smiled. "Did I surprise you?"

"When you touched my balls? Yeah. You did. But it was one hell of a good surprise, and I'm _so_ glad you did it." Harry kissed Draco's hair one more time, then got up and went into the bathroom for a moment. Draco heard water running. He wondered why Harry hadn't cleaned himself with magic, then remembered Harry was being cautious about using it, as it could be traced.

"We should leave England for a while, so I think we should go back to the house and get everything we'll want to be comfortable. All right?"

"Whatever you say, Harry. You're the one with all the stealth and tracking experience. I spent most of the war watching my own arse and trying not to be noticed, frankly." Draco blushed.

Harry sat on the bed and patted Draco's shoulder. "Hell, Draco! Don't feel lousy about not being a good Death Eater!"

Draco blushed again. "Of course, Harry. It's only that you did so much and I was on the wrong side, hiding behind my father and longing for the end."

"Oddly enough, I like you the way you are, Draco. Now please, get dressed. I've been trying to decide whether to bring you with me or not when I go back to the house to pack. What do you think?"

Draco sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "I think I'm not qualified to make that decision." 

"Neither way is really very safe, but I think I'll feel more in control if you're with me. Do you trust me to protect you?"

"Always, Harry." Draco stretched and stood. He walked toward the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Then Draco dressed and Harry packed the rucksack. 

"So we go pay the bill now?"

"Nope. Credit card. I already paid. We can Disapparate from here. You ready? I think I'll bring us back into the bathroom in our bedroom."

Draco nodded his acceptance of this idea as he finished tying his left trainer. He stood up and smiled as Harry opened his arms wide. Weighing an idea, he moved slowly toward Harry. When he stepped right up next to Harry's chest and still felt nothing but safe, he decided the idea had merit, and he pressed his lips to Harry's. Harry groaned quietly and pulled Draco in even closer, into an embrace - and a kiss - that left them both a bit breathless.

Harry laced a hand into Draco's hair and Draco slipped his hands under the edge of Harry's warm shirt. They rested their heads on one another's shoulders and stood carefully in one another's arms. Harry spoke first. "I want to kiss you again, Draco."

"Christ, Harry. Kiss me."

With his right hand in Draco's hair, Harry wrapped his left hand firmly around Draco's hip. "I am going to love you, Draco Malfoy. When you are ready for it, I am going to love you and love you and _love_ you."

By the time Harry finished speaking he was almost growling. Draco's knees buckled slightly and he grabbed onto Harry for support. At the same moment, Harry caught hold of Draco by the waist and held him up. Draco pressed into Harry's chest and tipped his mouth to Harry's. Harry licked the center of Draco's lower lip and Draco opened his mouth without even thinking. Their tongues touched and Draco whimpered. Immediately, Harry pulled away just enough to separate their mouths.

"I've pushed you too hard, Draco. Damn, I'm so sorry." 

Draco shook his head quickly. "No, Harry, no. That wasn't fear; that was passion. Please, Harry, kiss me again."

"Draco, if I kiss you again right now, we'll still be in this room in two hours when they come by to clean. Viktor should have a spare bedroom for us, with a door that locks. I'll explore you gently tonight. Come on. We really ought to go. The sooner we get to Viktor's house, the safer I'll feel."

Draco sighed. "All right, Harry. Of course. I want to get out of England as much as you do. Are you sure we should go back to your house?"

"It will only be for a few minutes. Come on." They held on to each other, and Draco opened his eyes to see Harry's bathroom. Harry pulled his wand out and opened the door, blocking Draco's view of the room beyond. Harry turned toward Draco, and from the look on his face, Draco guessed he was about to say something like, "Its all clear." Instead, Draco heard someone in the bedroom shout " _Petrificus_! _Incarcerous!_ "


	7. A Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by owens_mom.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: 019. Restraints  
> Ron/Draco  
> Rated: NC-17. At least. What's higher, X? Maybe I should rate this X.  
> Warnings: What has previously been implied, has here been detailed.

Horrified and scared, Draco peeked out of the bathroom to see only Weasley's wand-arm and the back of his head. He was otherwise invisible in such a way that Draco knew had to be magical. It looked incredibly creepy. 

Weasley was levitating a bound and petrified Harry into the armchair Harry kept near the bed. Harry could still move his eyes and many of the muscles in the top of his face. He looked mortified and furiously angry.

While Weasley had his back turned, Draco gathered his courage and made a run for the door.

 _Incarcerous_!

Draco fell to the bedroom floor, wrapped in the dirty grey ropes that had shot from Weasley's wand. Only then did he remember the protections on the bathroom. He should have closed the door and hoped the house would seal him in. He was such a fool! A frightened, miserable fool. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, fighting not to let a single tear slip free of his eyes. He was a Malfoy, even under these circumstances. He would not show that weakness.

Weasley walked over to Draco and nudged him with a foot. When he seemed satisfied that Draco was not going to get free, he spat on him, then left him there and began to speak to Harry. Weasley's voice sounded frustrated and disappointed.

"Harry, I can hardly believe how careless you were. How can you have become soft like this? The war is hardly over!"

Weasley began ticking Harry's errors off on his fingers.

"First of all, you left your invisibility cloak here. Second, you came back, and third, you brought the prey with you when you did. Shit, Harry, what the hell is the matter with you? When I Apparated in here in the middle of the night and saw you weren't here and your favorite rucksack and the yellow pages were gone, I knew right away that you were at a hotel."

Weasley pulled the invisibility cloak the rest of the way off and folded it reverently, placing it gently on Harry's chest of drawers. 

"I knew right away there was no point in looking for the hotel. You wouldn't be stupid enough to stay for more than one night, and I can't even guess how many hotels there are in London alone. But I knew there was a decent chance you would come back here this morning. You always were careless about this sort of thing, Harry. Always rushing off half-cocked. Needed me and Hermione to help you with these sorts of details. And you forgot it was me you were dealing with. Who knows you better? Who knows more of how you think? How you plan?"

Weasley turned and pointed his wand at Draco. He went to flick his wand, stopped, and slowly favoured Draco with a grin so evil it stopped the breath in Draco's throat. Then Weasley flourished his wand and cried _Memento_!

Horrible memories rushed into Draco's head. He felt like he was drowning in them. _A graveyard. Freezing in the cold. Weasley's come splattering on his face. The kitchen. Forced onto his knees. Choking on Weasley's huge, ugly prick. Forcing himself to swallow Weasley's come. Weasley surprising him in the Black library. Apparating him up to Harry's room. Ripping his clothes off, forcing him to his knees, whipping Draco's back bloody with Weasley's belt._

Draco rolled onto his side and began to retch as the memories continued to pour past his broken defenses.

_Strapped roughly into a sling. His raw back bleeding into the cloth beneath. Arms and legs tied tightly to the sling with heavy leather wrappings. Weasley's cock forcing its way into his unprepared and barely lubed arse. Screaming with pain._

Draco became vaguely aware that Weasley was speaking to Harry. He struggled to listen as he watched Weasley's feet moving around the room, in and out of Draco's field of view. He was so freaked out, but if he got himself under control, maybe he could free himself from the ropes enough to get himself into the bathroom while Weasley was distracted. The house would _surely_ seal him in! 

Draco tried to wriggle closer to the bathroom. Nothing. He was tied up too tight. So he began to struggle with the bindings. If he could just get over there….

"I fucked him and whipped him and raped him and fucked him, Harry. Over and over again. He's so tight, Harry." Weasley fairly moaned with appreciation for the memories of raping Draco. "You should have fucked him. You should have raped him. You'd have loved it! That's why we gave him to you, you know? He screams so pretty! You were supposed to punish him for us, Harry. You even knew it. You told me you knew you were his punishment."

Weasley sounded angry. He stopped pacing to stand in front of Harry's chair. His voice rose. Draco struggled frantically at the ropes. They were abrading his skin. He would bleed soon. But concentrating on the ropes helped him not think about his newly freed memories.

"But you're so fucking soft, Harry. So bloody soft! How could you have Draco fucking Malfoy at your mercy, finally, and not make the little ferret pay? After everything he did? To us? To Hagrid? To **Hermione**? He was supposed to be underneath you, Harry, screaming in pain and split open by your cock! The whole wizarding world wanted you to use him as a plaything, dammit. And you didn't. You wouldn't! Instead, you had him do your fucking **dishes**! He made your motherfucking grilled-cheese **sandwiches**!"

Weasley was working himself into a real lather and he was moving again, pacing back and forth in front of Harry. Draco could feel his wrists begin to bleed. He panted in pain, but continued to try to work his hands out of the knots. Nothing mattered but getting to the bathroom. He needed to be single-minded, to forget the horror and the fear.

"He's a Death Eater, Harry! He's a murdering little shite! He licked fucking Voldemort's **boots**! And his father, his bastard father gives us the counter-curses to their new spells, twenty minutes before you kill Voldemort, and suddenly junior here doesn't have to go to Azkaban! Why do you think the Wizengamot agreed to that, Harry? That's insane!"

Weasley's voice turned creepily soft and fawning. He seemed to be standing behind Harry's chair now. Perhaps he was speaking into Harry's ear. Draco struggled futilely with his bindings, but managed to think about nothing but the ropes and his wrists.

"Except that the poetic justice of Draco Malfoy at your feet, licking your arse, sucking your cock, and serving your sexual needs for a few decades, well, that was even better than him rotting away in Azkaban, out of the public eye, don't you know? We all knew what this would mean." Weasley's voice turned positively unctuous. "Our beloved hero, finally getting the love and adoration and undiluted sexual gratification we **all** wanted to give you."

Weasley's voice got louder again. He sounded sad now, almost whiny. "We **all** wanted to be the one to suck your cock, Harry. We all wanted to lie underneath you and watch your face twist with pleasure while you filled **us** up with your come. And we **all** wanted to be the one to make the Death Eaters pay. Since we couldn't, we did the next best thing. We gave you your very own pretty blond Death Eater, Harry, to pleasure you and be punished by you in our stead."

Draco worked and worked at the knotted ropes holding him captive. He wasn't getting very far, he was bleeding more, but Weasley's feet were quite far away from him at the moment, and he needed to take any advantage.

"But you wouldn't go along. You had to do it wrong. Follow some sort of fucked up moral code that doesn't apply! So I had to take over, Harry. I had to do it for you."

Weasley stopped pacing for a moment to levitate Draco off the floor without warning. He dropped Draco onto the bed from a height. Landing hurt, and Draco suppressed a cry of pain. His hands were in plain view of Weasley now, and he no longer dared attempt to wriggle from the bonds. Deprived of his distraction, he tried not to whimper as the memories of the day before poured into his thoughts afresh.

"So here we are, Harry. I had to come back. I had to do your work for you."

Weasley paced over to Draco. He growled something Draco didn't catch and Draco felt the ropes changing, reforming, his clothing melting away, the ropes pulling him, stretching him out, spread eagled on the bed, belly down, his face to the foot of the bed, and looking at Harry. He had no control, no power. He didn't know what was coming.

Nonetheless, he longed to communicate with his eyes that he didn't blame Harry for this. Looking into Harry's face, he did not know quite what he saw. The curse that was holding Harry down was also distorting his face. 

Weasley cast a spell at Draco and Draco felt the magic curling into his arse, examining him. "See that, Harry? The light is still white. That tells me you haven't fucked him. But that's what he _deserves_ , Harry. How could you not have seen that? So I'm just going to have to show you what he deserves, Harry. I'm going to show you how you should have whipped him. Chained him. Raped him. Killed him. For all of us. And I'm going to _enjoy_ it."

Draco unfocused his eyes and breathed, trying to white out his mind with Occlumency, trying to regain some control. Occlumency wouldn't keep Weasley out of his thoughts - especially since Weasley never seemed interesting in looking at them - but perhaps his training could help him deal with this assault.

Weasley levitated Harry's entire chair to sit squarely next to the side of the bed. He waved his wand at Harry's face while muttering spells Draco did not recognize, and Draco was shocked to see a small cloud form over Harry's face.

"That probably won't be very comfortable, Harry, but I want your eyes to stay open. If you can't blink, you'll need the tears."

One more wand wave, and the cloud began to rain gently into Harry's eyes. The rain went no further than Harry's cheeks, wetting Harry's eyes and then vanishing.

Draco was staring into Harry's face when the first arc of pain sliced through him. He couldn't help but cry out. Draco did his best to stay silent through the whipping. He stared into Harry's eyes, and found it helped tremendously. The cloud of tears was distracting at first, but he learned to ignore it, finally managing to focus only on Harry's wet, green eyes.

As the whipping continued, he found himself drifting away from his body, better able to center himself in Harry's eyes, to ignore the pain, to keep himself from screaming, flinching, or making undignified noises. The longer the whipping went on the more poorly the cloud of tears functioned. More and more of the drops began to slide past the invisible barrier midway through Harry's cheeks, wetting Harry's chin and collar.

Draco concentrated on two things. The feeling of the blood that dripped from his back, arms and legs; pooling at his sides on the duvet, soaking in and cooling his skin slightly, and Harry's tear-filled eyes. He lost consciousness a few times, but Weasley always brought him back magically, sneering that he wasn't going to permit Draco to escape so easily.

Eventually Weasley had had enough, and the bindings retreated into nothingness. Draco didn't move; in part because it didn't seem prudent, but mostly because he didn't think he was able.

Weasley seemed pleased with Draco's stillness.

"See Harry? This is what he deserves. This is what we wanted of you, but here I am, doing your dirty work again. This happens all the time, you know. Really, I'm a little tired of it. You get all the credit, all the glory, but I do so much of the hard work and no one ever cares, Harry. That really has to stop.

"But it's time for the next bit. I've whipped him to a bloody pulp, and now I'm going to rape him. I can't believe you haven't taken his tight little arse, yet, Harry."

Weasley sounded rather excited again. Draco strove to stay calm, despite everything.

"You really should have, and now you've lost your chance. Maybe we can get his father out of prison for you to fuck. That would be perfect, I think! I wish I knew why you hadn't done what you were supposed to, Harry, but if it falls to me to do your dirty work again, well, at least this time the shithole you're sending me into is tight."

Weasley rummaged through a bag he'd hidden under Harry's bed and pulled a contraption out of the main pocket. Waving his wand at it, he muttered _Engorgio_ and the thing popped open and grew. With his memories restored, Draco recognized it immediately. It was the sling Weasley had put him in the day before, and it was still filthy with Draco's blood.

"Do you remember that, Malfoy? I'll bet you do, now." Weasley levitated him into it, putting Draco on his back so that he was looking at the ceiling. Weasley kept talking all the while. 

"Do you know why I restored your memories?" Weasley was pretty much talking to himself at this point. Draco didn't see any point in trying to answer. 

Weasley was leaning over Draco, leering nastily in his face. "Because I couldn't stand the idea of you dying without all those memories." He strapped Draco into the sling, securing him to it with painfully tight leather wrappings. Draco knew he would soon have very little circulation in his arms and legs. Perhaps that would slow the bleeding, though. Draco stared at a spot right above Weasley's right eye and breathed carefully, working to white out his mind. _Harry will save me,_ he told himself.

"I want you to die knowing what sort of scum you are, Malfoy. I want you to die knowing what you were supposed to have had for all these weeks, what the whole wizarding world wanted for you! You think your pure blood can save you now, Malfoy? It's all over the bed, all over the floor! It doesn't seem to have much power!"

Weasley levitated Harry's chair so that, again, Harry was facing Draco's side and would have an excellent view of the proceedings. Draco was relieved to be able to look into Harry's eyes again. He realized it might be hard for Harry to witness this while staring into Draco's eyes, but at this point he really needed to take care of himself first.

Weasley shrugged out of his trousers and pants, then cast _Lubricus_ at his hand and hastily moistened his hard dick. Then he lined his dick up with Draco's arse and, surprisingly, tapped Draco's face. Draco turned his head and looked up at Weasley, who looked Draco in the eye. "I don't want to hear your voice, you little ferret," Weasley snarled. "Just nod 'yes' or shake 'no,' you understand?"

Draco nodded, wondering what on earth Weasley could want to know.

"Do you remember the graveyard?" Draco nodded. "Do you remember where we were?" Draco nodded. "Well, this is for **him**!" Weasley shoved hard, breaking past the resistance. Draco couldn't stop himself from screaming. _Christ_ that hurt. His eyes watered with the pain.

Weasley gripped Draco's hips, hard. Draco knew there would be bruises there soon, on top of everything else his body was enduring. Weasley fucked him hard and fast, and soon looked almost ready to come, but he pulled his prick free of Draco's arse and yanked Draco's head up, close. Then he spewed semen all over Draco's face.

Draco turned his head away, to help the come drip off a bit, onto the floor. Harry's cloud had completely broken, apparently, for the water was dripping fiercely from Harry's chin, now. His shirt looked very damp. Draco felt broken, himself. How much longer would this go on? Wasn't Harry going to save him?

Weasley's cock looked softer already, but Draco remembered yesterday now, and he knew better than to think that meant any sort of reprieve. Indeed, Weasley cast a few quiet charms at his prick, and it filled and darkened.

Weasley tapped Draco's chin with his wand again, so Draco looked at him. "Do you remember that day in the kitchen?" he asked. Draco nodded. "Do you know where I'd been right before? Whose bedside I'd Apparated from?" Draco assumed it had to have been Granger's, so he nodded. "That's right, you little cunt. Hermione's. My love, the one **you** cursed, you little bastard!" Draco shook his head, but that was a mistake. Weasley cracked him across the face with his open hand. The pain was sharp at first and then it eased off into a throb.

"Don't you contradict me, you cunt!"

Draco could only wince and nod. 

"That's better, ferret. This is for **her**!" and Weasley shoved his huge cock back into Draco's bleeding arse. Magic might have gotten Weasley hard again immediately, but even a man as young as him wasn't going to come again right away. This time, it took longer. Weasley amused himself by pinching Draco's nipples, twisting them, and once even leaning down to viciously bite the one on the right.

Draco fought with everything he had not to scream, but it was a losing battle. Weasley was watching him, seeing what hurt the most, doing the things that got reactions, over and over again, and all the while his huge prick was forcing into his arse, over and over.

By the time Weasley finally came Draco was in agony. By now he had given up on the losing battle not to cry. 

This time Weasley came into Draco's arse, yanking hard on Draco's legs and swinging him in the sling very fast, back and forth. This orgasm seemed to be even more pleasurable, from the way his eyes closed and his head fell onto his chest. "So fucking tight, so good…" he muttered.

But Weasley wasn't through. He picked up the whip and slashed Draco's chest with it once, twice, three times. The fourth time he managed to catch Draco's right nipple with the flicking tail, and Draco screamed as yet another part of his body started to bleed.

"That pure, pure blood looks good on your pale skin, Malfoy. Perhaps _that_ is the true value of pure blood. Looks prettier when it's spilled. Luckily I don't have to spill my own to find out, as I have you here."

Weasley charmed himself hard a third time, and this time he shoved his cock into Draco before he caught Draco's attention. "Do you remember yesterday, bitch?"

Draco nodded, tears dripping slowly from his eyes. Weasley took a moment to bite deeply into Draco's blood-smeared thigh before continuing.

"So you remember how I fucked you? Took the little value you have left? Taught you your true worth?" Draco nodded, remembering hours in this same sling, hours of abuse almost exactly like what he was getting now.

"Well that was for me, bitch, but this time? Well, this is for…" Weasley withdrew his cock almost completely, and as he bellowed the name "Harry!" he slammed his fat prick all the way into Draco, hard enough that Draco swung away, despite Weasley's iron grip on Draco's hips.

Watching the drops of rain that soaked Harry's collar, Draco wondered muzzily if the liquid he could feel on his face was rain, sweat, tears, or blood. He slipped into unconsciousness again.

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The barrister paced in front of the witness box a moment, and allowed the shock of what the defendant had just said to settle through the Wizengamot and the greedy, scandalized, titillated throng.

"And then what did you do, Mr. Weasley?" The barrister finally asked.

Ron spoke slowly, thickly, the Veritaserum making him sound ill, or broken. His voice was flat and dull. "When I was satisfied that he remembered everything, I raped him again."

"And then, Mr. Weasley? When you had finished raping Mr. Malfoy for the third time that morning?"

"I ejaculated into his body," Ron said dully. "After I did, I pulled free and cast a cleaning charm on my penis."

"And?" The barrister prompted.

"And then I cast _Avada Kedavra_ at Draco Malfoy." Even this admission elicited no emotion in Ronald Weasley. His head lolled slightly, and although he did not, he looked as though he might drool. The dose of Veritaserum was very large, to overcome his large body, swift teenage metabolism, and well-known innate magical power.

"That will be all, Mr. Weasley. You may step down."

Ronald made to step down, but he stumbled. Catching the Chief Warlock's eye and getting a nod in response, Molly Weasley jumped to her feet and rushed down to collect her son. Carefully walking him back through the crowd, she caught Hermione Granger's eye, but Hermione shook her head as she shuddered with discomfort. She clearly did not want to sit with Molly and Ron. Instead, she remained right where she was: next to, and holding hands with, Harry Potter.

"The defense calls Harry Potter!"

The courtroom filled with whispers as Harry gently disentangled his hands and made his way to the witness box. He was sworn in and sat, his back ramrod straight, his Order of Merlin, First Class, shining on the front of his plain, but very expensive robes. Everyone could see that his eyes had gone a bit dead and that his mouth was thin and strained.

"Mr. Potter." Harry nodded at the barrister. "What are your feelings toward Mr. Draco Malfoy?"

"I am in love with him." Harry's voice was calm and well-modulated, neither loud nor quiet. His face, however, still looked strained, as though he did not feel ready to share this information with the world.

The shocked mutters throughout the courtroom were silenced with a stern look from the Chief Warlock.

"How did that happen, Mr. Potter?" The barrister continued.

"As far the Healers and I can figure out, it was partially natural and partially from the spell on Ron."

"The spell on your best friend began to interact with your need to save and protect, is that right, Mr. Potter?"

"Again, yes, as far as we can tell. The more I needed to save him from Ron, the stronger and more sexual my feelings became."

"How would a spell on Mr. Weasley affect you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry sat up straight, looking the barrister right in the eye. The barrister was not intimidated. "The spell on Mr. Weasley was unregulated, illegal, and untested. It was designed for Death Eaters. It was designed to be active only for brief stretches, during battles. We have no idea how it interacted with my inherent nature and intrinsic magic. We can only speculate that it did."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter." The barrister still seemed as unflustered as ever. "Have you asked the Healers to remove the magical component of your feelings, Mr. Potter?"

"I did, yes. Immediately."

"And what was the result, Mr. Potter?"

"My feelings lessened considerably. For almost a week. Then they began to return. I am no longer interested in having them removed."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may step down, Sir. With thanks for all that you have done for us, of course." Harry simply nodded and left the stand.

"The defense calls Draco Malfoy!"

Draco stood, nodded to Hermione on the other side of Harry's empty chair, and moved to head down to the witness stand. He and Harry met on the way, and Harry, standing a step below Draco, clasped Draco by both shoulders and looked up into Draco's eyes. Neither of them spoke, but they looked into one another's eyes for a long, quiet moment. Finally the Chief Warlock cleared his throat quietly, and Harry let go of Draco and moved aside for Draco to pass.

Draco was sworn in, far more slowly than Harry had been, but he was not subjected to Veritaserum, which was a blessing.

"Mr. Malfoy," the barrister began. Draco nodded. "What happened when Mr. Weasley cast _Avada Kedavra_ at you, please?"

"Weasley began to cast the Killing Curse, but Harry finally broke free from the _Petrificus_ and tackled him. Then Harry stupefied Weasley with Weasley's own wand."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now young man, what can you tell me about the _Vindicta_ Curse?"

"It is my father's invention." The barrister gestured at him to continue. "Technically, it is a charm. Father invented it to improve the ranks that the Dark Lord had recruited; to make Death Eaters into better soldiers. The one affected is infused with the sense that he is, essentially, already dead. Father drew on Maori magics to remove fear and instill courage, but I understand he also drew on Viking magics, and the famous Viking bezerker rage. It was meant to be quite temporary, to be cast on soldiers as necessary during battles and removed immediately afterward. If Mr. Weasley has been under _Vindicta_ for months now it would be almost impossible for me to predict what it might have done to him."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You may step down." Draco moved away from the witness box as quickly as he thought he could move without being unseemly.

"The defense calls Ms. Smith, memory and spell expert of Scotland Yard, Wizarding Division."

A tall, slender witch of indeterminate age rose gracefully from a seat near the wall. Her robes were remarkably severe, and she reminded Draco of Headmistress McGonagall. The woman was sworn in quickly and she sat calmly in the witness box.

"Ms. Smith, how did you determine that Mr. Weasley might be suffering from spell damage?

"Mr. Weasley spoke of a particular battle during the war, when he, Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger were single handedly fighting an increasing slew of Death Eaters for an unknown stretch of time. It seemed a likely time to have sustained subtle, undiagnosed spell damage. I took Pensieve memories from Mr. Weasley of the relevant stretch of battle, and using techniques pioneered at Scotland Yard, slowed them down and carefully examined every spell that did, or could have, hit Mr. Weasley. It only took one viewing to see that he was hit by a spell I did not recognize, from a Death Eater I easily recognized as Lucius Malfoy."

"How did you recognize Lucius Malfoy, Ms. Smith?"

Ms. Smith seemed to think this question absurd, and she looked patronizingly down her nose at the barrister. "His hair, sir, is unmistakable. No one but he, his late wife, and his son have that color hair, and no one would mistake Lucius for Narcissa or Draco, even in robes and a mask."

"Thank you, Ms. Smith." The barrister's tone was conciliatory, though his body language showed no sense of discomfiture. "Please, continue with your thoughts on the relevant battle."

"Frankly, it appeared that Malfoy had been aiming at a Death Eater behind Mr. Weasley who was not fighting very hard, and that Malfoy had not intended to hit Weasley with that spell at all."

"And what was that spell, Ms. Smith?"

"It was the previously unknown _Vindicta_."

"Can you add anything to what Mr. Malfoy has explained?"

"The key is the attribute of calm and release, combined with the subtle undertones of bezerker rage. When applied to a soldier for a short period, this spell would release the soldier's fears. He would feel, essentially, that he was already dead, so there was no reason not to fight fiercely. He had no life to lose, only glory and honour to attain. 

"But Mr. Weasley was under the influence of _Vindicta_ for well over six months. Once the war ended, and there were no more dangerous missions to accomplish or battles to fight, Mr. Weasley's spell damage quickly fixated on Mr. Malfoy as 'the enemy' and he was, in a sense, doomed. There was no saving Mr. Malfoy from Mr. Weasley as long as _Vindicta_ was still in place. Mr. Weasley went to extraordinary lengths in order to get to Mr. Malfoy. It was all from _Vindicta_."

"You are certain of that, Ms. Smith?"

"Most definitely." Ms. Smith's eyes were steely and she swept her eyes over the courtroom, as though daring a single person to contradict her. But the mood of the room was easy and relaxed. The only tense and miserable people, as it happened, were the three young people sitting in the fourth row, all holding hands.

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The Chief Warlock looked severely at the courtroom. "I will now read the verdict, and I must insist upon absolute silence while, and after, it is read. I am sure I make myself clear."

He made a bit of a show of fidgeting with his glasses, and then tapped the parchment in front of his face with his wand. Finally, he began to speak.

"In the matter of rape of Draco Malfoy, and the attempt to murder Draco Malfoy, Ronald Weasley is found not guilty by reason of spell damage inflicted by Lucius Malfoy. Mr. Weasley, you are free to go."

Despite the threats from the Chief Warlock, the courtroom erupted in cheers. Almost no one noticed as Harry Potter wrapped his arms around Draco Malfoy and Apparated them back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.


	8. House Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by ravenna_c_tan and drgaellon.  
> 50_smutlets prompt: 028. Sound  
> Harry/Draco  
> Rated: NC-17.  
> Warnings: Angst. Wanking.  
> A present for owens_mom. Just because she's a good friend and a great beta. This one seemed to be sort of her "thing." OM, I really hope you like it.

The Muggle alarm clock switched on, and a London radio station began to chirrup cheerful inanities. Morning radio. Draco longed for a proper wireless, but Harry didn't want one in the bedroom. Draco turned and reached to switch off the small machine, accustomed now to things that only a few months ago he'd not even known to exist.

Draco turned back toward Harry and they looked quietly into one another's eyes, saying nothing, not getting up, nor getting any closer. Draco needed to break the silence.

"How many eggs would you like this morning, love?"

Harry sighed - and Draco almost sighed right back. It wasn't as though he was unaware of how Harry felt about that word. But he steadfastly refused to obey Harry in this one small thing. He was in love with Harry, and he was sure Harry was in love with him as well. It had been three months since the trial, but those words still rang clear and calm in Draco's mind.

"I am in love with him."

Sometimes that memory was his only real comfort.

Harry stroked Draco's hair away from his face and gazed at him with what Draco knew was pity, but wished desperately was love.

"Three today. No sausage or bacon, I think. Tomato and toast, if you would. And I want to get a house-elf."

"Harry, we've talked about this so many times. It's your house, your choice, but please, don't get a house-elf. Cooking and cleaning for you is all I have left."

Harry looked a bit annoyed but he didn't move away. "That's not true, Draco." They had discussed this before. "You have a library full of books to read. You can study with Hermione. I think you should take your N.E.W.T.s. - or I'd be happy to set up a potions lab in the house for you. You could even come to work with the orphans with me."

Draco chose to ignore the academic suggestions. "Harry, no one but you thinks there is anything appropriate about having me - or any former Death Eater - around small children all day. If I even tried the uproar would-"

"All right," Harry sighed. "I suppose I have to concede that point. But still, I don't like that you serve me like a house-elf." 

"Well Hermione loves it, as you'll recall." Draco smirked. "Thinks it's only right after being served by house-elves my whole life."

Harry growled quietly and got out of the bed, putting a dressing gown on over a full set of pyjamas. Draco always slept in the nude. It did no good, though.

"This isn't about Hermione, Draco. It's about you."

Draco decided to brave the truth. "No, Harry. Really, it's about you. How is it that-" but he heard the bathroom door shut on his words. Apparently Harry wasn't ready to discuss the problem.

Harry took long showers, a detail that Draco exploited most mornings. This wouldn't take long. He already had a bit of a stiffy. He pulled the lubricant from the drawer in his bedside table and put a large dollop on the tip of his left index finger. He stroked his cock with his right hand and circled his arsehole with the lubricated fingertip. He let his mind flow deep into fantasy. This morning he chose one of his sure things. He wanted plenty of time to make a nice breakfast for Harry.

 _Draco is wearing only a vest and skimpy swimming trunks. He stands with the others. They strike seductive poses as the boss opens the door. The john looks the boys over until his eyes reach Draco. The john is gorgeous, green eyes, broad shoulders, and messy black hair. He makes a dismissive motion and the others retreat silently, leaving Draco with the john and the boss. The john speaks. "This one. How much for his contract?" They negotiate but Draco isn't listening, he can only think about being under this hot bloke, and only him. No more ugly men. No more whorehouse. The john Apparates him home and Draco kneels. He doesn't even know the john's name. The john pulls a beautiful cock out of his robes. "This is your new master. Suck it." Draco takes the cockhead into his mouth. Draco reaches for his own cock with one hand, grabs the master with the other. Draco sucks hard at the head, sinks down all the way to his own fingers, yanks hard at his own erection._ Draco came, fucking his hand, three fingers deep in his own arse. He looked quickly at the bathroom door, but it was still closed, Harry still unaware. Draco sighed and took a fast shower in the bathroom down the hall.

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A lovely breakfast awaited Harry when he came downstairs. Draco had gone all out. He still wasn't permitted his own wand, but Harry didn't care if Draco used Harry's when Harry didn't need it, so in addition to the freshly squeezed pumpkin juice and the extra plate set for Hermione, there were warming and cooling charms keeping everything at the perfect temperature. Hermione came down shortly after Harry. She had spent the night, as she almost always did. She had her own bedroom on the other side of the house from Harry and Draco's room. Not that there was noise they needed to shield her from, but there was no point in brooding over that right now.

Draco was surprised how well he got on with Hermione, but she was intelligent and perceptive and had a tongue sharper than a dragon's scale, a quality Draco very much enjoyed in a friend. He would have been happy to spend more time with her, but she was studying for her N.E.W.T.s through correspondence courses with a host of tutors and Hogwarts professors. Draco had no interest in studying for his N.E.W.T.s. What good would they do him? No one would hire him, even if the Wizengamot gave him permission to work. Better to polish his cooking skills. 

Hermione was happy to let him make her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and they had congenial conversations over food, whether or not Harry was around, but when she wasn't eating she was in the Black library or the great wizarding library hidden in the Chislehurst Caves. 

Once Hermione earned her N.E.W.T.s - and Draco had no doubt that she would earn an annoyingly impressive number of them - she would get some high-powered job as an Unspeakable or running Gringotts or something, and Draco would see even less of her. She might even move out. Draco had been surprised when he realized he would miss her.

Harry and Hermione seemed very appreciative of Draco's work in the kitchen, and the three of them discussed nothing more taxing over breakfast than the headlines of _The Daily Prophet_.

Hermione informed Draco that she would be in the house all morning, so when Harry had gone, Draco borrowed her spare wand and made quick but thorough work of cleaning the entire house. She only let him borrow her spare, and then only when she was in the house, but Draco was mature enough now to appreciate the trust it proved she had for him. He also appreciated how much faster and easier it was to clean the house with a wand than a mop. He always made sure to get the house as absolutely pristine as possible when he could do it with a wand. That way, it lasted longer; there were quite a few tasks he hadn't had to do by hand more than once since the trial, when Hermione had all but moved in. 

Draco returned the wand to Hermione after a few hours. He didn't speak as he approached, respecting her study time. She glanced up at him and smiled, but then returned to taking notes with a Dictation-Quill. Draco hadn't expected her to drop her books and keep him company, but still, he could admit to himself that it would have been nice.

Even if he decided to make an insanely elaborate and work-intensive lunch for three, there was no reason to head for the kitchen for an entire hour. What would he do today? He could read, he could plan menus, he could watch that telly thing. 

But really, there was only one thing he was in the mood for today, especially after cleaning the house so thoroughly. Draco slipped out of the library quietly and went to his and Harry's bedroom for a good long wank.

He didn't bother to lock the door. Hermione wouldn't disturb him unless the house caught on fire or Voldemort's ghost rang the doorbell.

He slipped out of the Muggle-style clothes Harry had bought for him, dropping them carelessly into a small heap on the floor. This shouldn't take long. Not long enough for cotton to wrinkle, anyway. He lay on the bed he shared so innocently with Harry, and intently began to summon up memories of a different bed, one in a London hotel. He and Harry had lain there that morning, touching, exploring so tentatively - before everything had been stolen from them. 

Draco forcibly banished the regret. He would not waste time on wishing. He'd had good reason, that morning, not to participate more fully. He could not have known what was to come - not that day, nor in the lonely months to follow. 

So then, no regrets, just good memories. Draco stroked his filling cock and thought about Harry, eager, hungry, hopeful, almost-but-not-quite bashful. Harry pushing down his jeans and boxers, telling Draco to touch if he wanted. Christ, he had been delicious that way. Draco searched his mind again for the memory of exactly what Harry's cock looked like. He hadn't seen it erect in so long, but that morning in the hotel, Harry had _wanted_ Draco to see it, had said so, explicitly. Thankfully, Draco had drunk his fill that morning, for he'd needed that picture in his mind many times since.

Draco had looked. And had anticipated. And touched. And the very touch of Draco's fingers on Harry's balls had triggered Harry's orgasm. Draco remembered that Harry's cock was lovely. A fairly ordinary length and thickness, if truth be told, but still, so lovely. Curving straight to Harry's belly, completely hard and a little pink toward the head but otherwise much the same color as the rest of Harry - pale gold. 

And now Draco, wanking as slowly as he could force himself to, changed his memory into a fantasy. He could picture it all so beautifully. After all, he'd had weeks and weeks of practice now. _He slips off the T-shirt and boxers… Draco straddles Harry… Harry casts a lubrication spell and Draco gasps as he feels his arse cleansed, lubed… Draco reaches for Harry's hands… Harry clasps hold of Draco's hands and they press together, filling Draco with Harry's cock… Draco begins to ride Harry… slowly, slowly, but then faster, faster, Draco's hand is on his own cock, faster, faster…._ Draco could almost feel it, almost see it - Harry straining and sighing and coming beneath him, his cock snug inside Draco's arse - and screaming "Harry!" Draco came all over his hand.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Draco looked at the bedroom door, but there was no one with him, no Harry staring and blushing, no Harry hard and wanting him. Harry was still out of the house.

Draco curled onto his side and a tear escaped his eye. He told himself it was sweat and went to take a shower.

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Draco made lunch. Harry came home and the three of them sat and chatted pleasantly about their mornings. Hermione had found a fascinating spell that seemed effectively to break through even very strong anti-translation spells. She thought it would be a good subject for the essay she needed to write for Ancient Runes. Harry'd had a breakthrough with Edmund, the shyest of all the orphans. The two of them had talked about Hogwarts and what Edmund could expect it to be like when he went there in three years. Draco had found a new recipe for sweet potato and spinach lasagne in a book and had enjoyed trying it out. They all enjoyed his first attempt, and Harry and Hermione declared it an excellent dish.

If Draco hadn't been painfully in love with Harry, it would have been a very fine lunch indeed.

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The next evening, Hermione ate dinner with her mother and father. It was her new tradition. She ate with them and slept at their home on Friday nights. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were bewildered by everything that had happened to Hermione after the war, and yet supportive at the same time.

They'd been fond of Ron, but for a while, they couldn't understand why he wasn't in prison or a mental ward. Hermione had quite a time trying to explain spell damage to them. They now seemed to understand that St. Mungo's had declared Ron free of _Vindicta_ , but they wouldn't allow him in their home. 

Hermione was relieved by that. Ron was in Romania working with Charlie and trying to stay out of the _Prophet_ , but she'd set the wards to repel him should he try to Apparate or Portkey into her parent's house. Just thinking about what he'd done to Draco gave her the shivers. She didn't think their relationship could ever recover from what she'd heard when he'd testified.

Harry was restless with Hermione out, and Draco suggested that they go to a Muggle cinema. They'd gone the week before and Draco had rather enjoyed the experience. They stopped for fish and chips and ate the greasy stuff as they walked down the street to the movie theater.

The movie was utterly forgettable except for the main character, a man who looked rather like Harry. The female love interest was blonde, slim and tall, and Draco had fun ignoring the dialogue and pretending that the story was about Harry and himself. He was wondering what he would look like in a slinky dress and court shoes when Harry leaned over and whispered in his ear, "This movie is awful. Let's go home?"

Draco could only nod and hope Harry would want to Apparate, as that involved the most physical contact he ever seemed to get from Harry.

They slipped out of their seats and into the lobby. Harry bought more popcorn and they began the walk to the house. It was many, many blocks, but Harry didn't seem to mind. Draco knew he could use a bit of exercise so he simply matched Harry's stride and shared the popcorn. They walked in silence. Harry'd seemed willing to discuss the film, as much as they'd seen at any rate, but Draco had ignored it so effectively he had nothing intelligent to say and that conversation dried up.

They left the heavily populated area and made their way closer to home, where the streets were empty of people at this hour. Harry spoke abruptly without looking at Draco. He looked ahead, down at the sidewalk. His voice was low. "Hermione thinks I'm not being fair to you."

Draco decided not to interrupt. He wanted to hear where this was going.

"She thinks I should see a therapist. That's a Muggle thing. A trained person who would mostly listen, ask some questions. The point would be to help me deal with what I, you know, saw."

All at once, Draco saw the wisdom of it, and the problem. He'd never heard of any such thing before, and he wondered why, as the War would surely have created plenty of people who could use a quiet, professional ear - but if he'd never heard of such a thing, then there were no wizards or witches who had this training. It didn't sound like the sort of thing just anyone could do. That left Muggles… and the code of secrecy.

"I asked her how the hell I was supposed to explain what happened to a Muggle, but she said she was trying to find a Squib. She thinks there has to be a Squib, or a Muggle married to a witch or a wizard, who's gone through the training to become a therapist." Harry paused as they turned a corner, but this street was empty as well, and Harry started up again. "She's sure she can find one. She wants to go too, you see."

Finally Harry stole a glance toward Draco. Draco knew what he was supposed to do now. Be supportive, encouraging, but not too hopeful. He made a stab at it. "Hermione is very smart."

There. That was a good beginning. He was calm, hands in his pockets, walking at the same measured pace. They were almost on Grimmauld Place. This was obviously a conversation Harry hadn't been willing - able? - to have while looking Draco in the eye. So they needed to say all the important things before they got to the house, when Draco knew Harry would disappear into himself.

Really though, it was good that they were so constrained, because Draco was having trouble not dancing for joy. Hermione was on his side! There might be a way to end this horrible limbo!

Harry still hadn't spoken, so Draco tried again. "It sounds like something worth trying, I think. Maybe it could help."

"Would you want to go?"

Draco would not. He'd removed the offensive memories long ago, using a borrowed wand and an empty bottle of Mess Remover. There might be potential side effects of long-term removal of days worth of memories, but he didn't care. It was worth whatever came not to have that stuff in his head anymore. But Harry had refused to take the risk. Harry, Draco thought sarcastically, was a hero. He could bear any memory. Even if it left him emotionally paralyzed.

Draco avoided answering Harry's question. "Hermione's parents are health types. Maybe there are others like her parents, but therapists? A Muggle therapist with a magical child?"

"You wouldn't want to go, then." Harry sounded disappointed. 

"I would go if you asked," Draco said. He could concede defeat on almost anything, if it meant another chance with Harry.

When they got home Harry vanished into his "study." It was a place Draco thought of as Harry's escape from Draco. He couldn't imagine what else Harry did in there. It wasn't as though he was studying for N.E.W.T.s, or that volunteering with the orphans required him to bring home any work. 

Draco watched an hour of telly and then began to get ready for bed. Harry was nowhere to be seen, so Draco took his time in the bath, then climbed atop the duvet, nude as always. 

Still no Harry. Draco lubed a finger and teasingly stroked his hole. Inspired, he grabbed for Harry's pillow with his clean hand. He rested it on his face, smelling Harry's scent. It was a mixture of pure Harry and strawberry shampoo. He reached for his cock, the pillow lightly resting on his face. He would be wanting a good fantasy tonight.

 _Draco is in the bedroom reading. Hermione drags Harry in. He's been cursed! His sperm is poisoning him and he has to come inside Draco to get rid of it. Hermione vanishes and Draco yanks his and Harry's clothes off quickly. No time to lose! Harry is hard and straining and beautiful and in pain and only Draco can fix it. He sits on Harry, rides Harry's cock, rocks back and forth and Harry is going to come, come inside Draco, and then they'll have to do it all over again until the poison is all gone and_ Draco came, jerking hard at the head of his cock, biting Harry's pillow. Oh. Ohh… that was a good one. Was that a sound? 

Draco sat up, the pillow falling off his face. There was Harry, standing in the doorway. The invisibility cloak was falling off his shoulders. He had his cock out and he was stroking it. Fast. Draco looked into his eyes, and Harry came onto the floor. And then Harry reeled around and ran from the room like a coward, leaving the cloak on the floor. 

Draco washed his hands, cleaned the come off the floor, put away the cloak, and waited a long time for Harry to return, but he fell asleep before Harry returned to the bed for the night.

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When Draco woke on Saturday, Harry was already in the shower. Draco only knew Harry had slept there by the look of his side of the bed. Draco showered in the hall bathroom, dressed, and started breakfast without seeing Harry once. They ate breakfast in silence, sharing the newspaper. The crinkling of the pages and the clink of plates and silverware were the only sounds.

Harry slipped away while Draco cleared the table.

Draco didn't like it, but he knew he had to go find Harry. Harry clearly wasn't going to start the conversation, and they really needed to talk.

Harry was in the library, sitting in a chair with a book on his lap, but staring out the window. Draco walked in and sat at Harry's feet. As he often did, Harry began to stroke his fingers through Draco's hair. Who knew if he even realized he was doing it? Draco would do nothing to stop the touch.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"Don't be. Do it as often as you want. With or without the cloak."

"But I can't…"

Harry's words stalled, so Draco looked at him, waiting. When Harry stayed silent, Draco guessed at what he couldn't do.

"Get any closer than the doorway? All right." Draco meant it, too. He'd take anything at this point, and surely standing as far as the doorway wouldn't be permanent - especially if Hermione found a therapist who already knew about magic. 

No one spoke for a moment. Finally, Draco had to ask. "Have you done that before? Watched me like that?"

"Er… yes. Are you angry?" Harry sounded shy.

"No. No, I swear I'm not angry." Draco pressed his temple against Harry's knee and Harry's calming fingers stroked through Draco's short, blond hair. "When did you start?"

"Well," Harry sounded embarrassed now. "Not long after you moved in, actually. When I started at the orphanage and you thought I was out all day. Sometimes I… wasn't out all day."

"You know," Draco mused, "more than once, I could have sworn someone was watching me. That was you?"

Draco tipped his head up and looked at Harry's face. Harry was blushing outright now. He didn't answer, merely nodded.

Draco wanted to turn this around. "I'm glad, really." Harry said nothing so Draco continued. "I'm glad to know you were interested in me, even all the way back then. You know how I feel, what I want. The more you had going on before the… the trial, the more chance we have for a… a future."

"But I was under a spell back then." Harry looked uncomfortable and Draco closed his eyes and rested his head on Harry's knee again.

"Yes, but you had it removed… and…."

"Yes." Harry stroked his fingers through Draco's hair again. "I had it removed, and the feelings came back. I remember what I said to the Wizengamot."

"Me, too." Draco whispered. "Me, too."

Harry picked up his book again, leaving his fingers twisting and stroking through the soft, clean strands of Draco's hair. Draco stayed right where he was. 

Finis


End file.
